Dominoes and Dynamite
by OperationBlackSheep
Summary: When Tony's solo attempt to catch Loki goes awry, he finds himself struggling to counteract the god's plans and unravel his secrets. Loki is vaguely amused by these attempts. Rated T for language, might become M. Will become slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone! This is my first story, so please give me any and all feedback that you have. Also, I haven't quite decided where the story will go after a certain point, so be sure to let me know if you have any ideas or preferences.**

**Disclaimer: not mine, for the time being. I have people working on it, though, so stay tuned... ;)**

* * *

In retrospect, Tony decided that it was all Pepper's fault.

No, seriously.

If she hadn't decided to have one of her rants about being "underappreciated" and "underpaid" and "working like a pack mule for you lazy jerks," then Tony wouldn't have offended her by not really listening (He couldn't help that he was in the middle of taking the toaster apart for scraps), and she wouldn't have stormed out with the sandwiches she had brought them from the deli down the street, and Tony wouldn't have pulled the short straw and had to go to the deli himself for the team's lunch (since all they had in the Mansion was mayonnaise and half a jar of pickles).

So, obviously, the whole ordeal was Pepper's fault.

Tony stared at the menu board behind the counter, wishing he had written down his team's orders. Pepper no doubt had them memorized, but she was certain to hang up on him if he attempted to call and ask her. Behind him, the growing line shifted and muttered to itself. The people ranged from a wraith-like woman in business attire to three burly construction workers from a work in progress down the street. They were all eyeing him with oddly similar expressions of impatience and irritation. Tony was sure that he had been at the front of the line a full minute, but the pimply cashier looked too star-struck to prompt him.

"Er... yes. I'd like two Pork Meatball Heroes, one Philly Cheese Steak... er... one Roast Pork, hold the tomatoes- or was it the onions? No, the tomatoes- one Blue Smoke Brisket-," with each added order, the line's grumbling grew louder. "-two Meatlover's Supremes, extra salami on one, extra ham and turkey on both, and three BLTs, extra bacon, extra tomatoes, light on the lettuce." Tony leaned against the counter as the sandwich assemblers sprang into action. The kid manning the register was punching keys faster than Tony could keep track.

"Alright, Iron- Mr. Stark. That'll be eighty-eight seventy-two. Please." He looked both awed and anxious, as though he feared Tony would just grab the sandwiches and leave laughing.

"You got it," Tony smiled. The kid offered a half-hearted grin in return, but neither of them moved for several moments.

"... Mr. Stark?"

"What? _Oh!_ Right, paying, sorry." Tony fumbled with his wallet as he pulled it from his back pocket. He was sure that it had been some sort of fancy gift, but the leather creaked like new when he cracked it open, a testament to its infrequent use. He never paid for things himself- he had Pepper for that. He only ever picked things out, or demanded them, or (when he was especially drunk) pointed and grunted.

The kid swiped his card and handed it back, eyes wide. Tony could practically hear him thinking "I just touched Iron Man's American Express. Mike won't believe this."

Making the sandwiches took time, as was expected, and the construction workers behind him practically shouldered him out of the way as Tony hefted the bags and staggered to the door. If he'd been in his suit, Tony would have glared or snapped at them, but each of them seemed to be thrice his size. He decided against it.

Tony turned and headed towards the construction zone- it was the quickest and preferred way to the Mansion, despite the increased chances of being struck in the head by chunks of falling plaster.

The shouts, hammering, and power tools from the site added to the rich, obnoxious sounds of New York in a manner that could be best described as cacophonous. Tony's ears rang as he shuffled through the crowded, covered walkway that the crew had set aside for pedestrians. It was not terribly unlike a battle zone, complete with excessive plaster dust and the occasional loud crash or curse.

Because of his disorientation, Tony didn't even react when he first saw Loki. Maybe it was because the god seemed to belong there, amid the chaos, and maybe it was because, by that point, Tony's mind was too addled by noise to be of much use.

Once it did filter through, he stopped short and jerked his head around to be sure. Someone knocked into him and swore loudly, but Tony paid them no mind, his knuckles white on the sandwich bags. He wouldn't be here of all places, would he?

But there Loki stood, just behind three muscly men who weren't coated in nearly as much dirt or dust or grime as the rest of the men. Contractors, Tony guessed. Loki himself somehow looked spotless in his black and grey pinstripes and trademark green scarf, and it took Tony another few seconds to process that and come up with: _magic_.

The four men were all leaning over a large table set up near what would be the entrance of the new building. Loki had positioned himself slightly behind the tallest of the three workers, so that it looked almost like a child peeking around his father. But what on earth would Loki be interested-?

Tony's hands went cold, and not just from lack of circulation from the bags. The blueprints. Loki was staring at the blueprints for the building, learning the building's strengths and weaknesses before it even truly came into being, gaining a terrific advantage. What if he was going to use that knowledge to trap innocent people? Or the Avengers? Or maybe Loki would just plant a bomb and detonate it whenever he felt like it...

Tony dropped the sandwiches with a curse and clambered over the temporary barrier between the pedestrians and the construction site. He stumbled on the dismount and knocked into a stack of two-by-fours. One or two tumbled to the ground with loud clatters, the alien sound drawing a surprising number of eyes and shouts. He didn't stop, only hastened towards the central table, wishing desperately that he had his suit. Or handcuffs. Or anything, really.

"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing, asshat? This is a construction zone, not an amusement park!"

It was one of the workers - contractors, he corrected - at the blueprints table. His fellows had turned towards him as well, looking outraged, and when Tony sought the Trickster God, his eyes met green. Loki didn't even have the decency to look surprised as he eyed Tony in return, a familiar smirk playing around his lips.

Tony swore and broke into a run, but instead of disappearing in a flourish of green mist as Tony expected, Loki only turned and walked swiftly though the milling, hurrying workers. Tony put on a burst of speed, dodging people left and right in his frenzy to reach Loki before Loki reached the civilians.

The god had almost made it to the barrier at the far side when Tony tackled him in a flying leap that would've made Fury proud. The two of them toppled the gate with an almighty crash, drawing stares and shouts and a scream or two. Tony's head clipped the pavement harder than he would've liked, giving Loki a chance to twist up and out of his grip. Teeth gritted, Tony pushed himself up and sprang once more, locking his arms firmly around Loki's frame-

Loki's suddenly shorter, thinner frame.

Somebody was screaming in his ear:

_"Let go, let go of me! Help! Somebody, please, help me! He won't let me go, HELP!"_

The voice was shrill and terrified and coming from the body that Tony was clutching. He had barely a moment to process the perfume in his nose and the softness of the body pressed against his before beefy hands grabbed his shoulders and arms and wrenched him off of Loki.

"Get off of her, you sack of shit!" One of the construction had him from behind, and another three were gripping his arms and hands. Tony struggled, staring at the stumbling young woman he had been forced to release. She was dressed in a rumpled, dusty business suit, and was covering her face with her hands as she staggered away, still shrieking. Tony could have sworn that the eyes he glimpsed between her fingers were green as envy. A young woman in purple corduroys moved forward as though trying to console her, but the dark-haired woman turned and fled.

"Hey! Someone stop him, he's-"

Tony's desperate shout was interrupted as one of the construction workers socked him soundly in the jaw, followed by another to his gut that made him bend in two.

Winded, Tony could only listen to the workers snarl at him. "You don't treat women like that, you asshole-" One of them kneed him in the face, and Tony wondered how bad his shiner would be.

"-swear to God, if it was up to me, I'd kill you myself-" There was a final punch to Tony's solar plexus that left him choking on a lack of air before the heavy hands on his shoulders vanished. He had no time to feel relieved before smaller, steadier hands clasped his forearms and wrenched them around his neck.

"Sir, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will-,"

An officer? Metal snapped closed around Tony's wrists. An officer. An actual police officer was arresting _him_ for assaulting _Loki_. Didn't they usually hand out medals for that?

"There's- there's been- a mistake," Tony gasped out.

"-you have the right to an attorney- I saw the whole thing, you bastard, so shut it -you have the right to-"

"You don't understand- I'm Tony Stark, I'm Iron Man; that- that _Loki_, a _criminal_-"

The man shook him roughly. "I don't care if you're the Goddamn _Hulk_, you don't grab women like that. Now shut up and move your ass."

Tony blinked sweat out of his eyes as the officer forced him to straighten and marched him in the direction of a squad car. The people lining the block were all looking at him with faces of disgust or avid interest. There were countless camera phones out to capture the moment.

As the officer grabbed Tony's hair and stuffed him into the car, Tony glimpsed a dark-haired woman in a crisp, clean business suit standing on the opposite corner, watching him with a self-satisfied little smirk.

* * *

Tony's booking went by in a blur. His insistence that it was Loki that he had grabbed fell on the deaf ears of his arresting officer, and by the time they arrived at the station, Tony was too distressed to make much sense at all. Most of the officers that he passed on the way to the cell just looked at him with concern that faded to disgust as the officer guiding him explained why he had been brought in

His cheekbone throbbed and- if he wasn't mistaken - his aching jaw was bleeding where a ring or something on the worker's hand had gouged the skin. Tony didn't even _want _to think about the bruises and internal damage he would have in his stomach.

The officer finally un-cuffed him and tossed him into a single cell. Literally, tossed. Tony caught himself with numbed hands and grimaced as his palms came away filthy and stinging.

He heard the officer's muttering and footsteps leaving him behind, and Tony heaved himself to his feet. "H-hey!" He grasped the bars, pressing his face to the metal to try and catch the man's eye. "Hey, what about a phone call?"

"You'll get your call tomorrow. For now, think about what you did to that poor girl."

Tony's heart sank and settled somewhere below his feet. It wasn't like he hadn't ever spent the night in jail before (Lord knows, he had), but this time a) he hadn't done anything _wrong_, and b) he was sure that Loki was prowling the city, preparing to blow up the building or something.

He made his way gingerly to his cot, wishing that Thor had drawn the short straw to pick up the sandwiches. He would've had no trouble fighting off a hoard of construction workers while hanging on to his brother.

With any luck, Clint would be complaining by now about the slow sandwich delivery. Maybe Steve would try Tony's cell a few times (it would buzz happily in a police storage container somewhere above his head) and then send Pepper on the hunt for him in the city when he didn't answer.

Ah, Pepper.

This was all her fault. Hers and Loki's.

* * *

**Oh, this was _fun!_ *twirls***

**Any requests? Flames? Advice? Gushing torrents of adoration and love?**

**I would love to get some reviews... any kind. Who wants to be first? *looks to and fro for volunteers* Okay, fair enough... I'll get back to writing, shall I? *slinks away***

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again, everyone! **

**A big thank-you to all who reviewed. I was so excited! I hope this chapter meets your expectations.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine (yet!).**

**Warnings: more language. What can I say? Fury has a potty mouth... )**

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By Tony's estimate, it was a somewhere around three in the morning when Nick Fury himself came storming through the hallway outside the cells, policemen in tow, and demanded that Tony be released "right that Goddamn second if you value your jobs."

Tony would've felt rather touched if the man's expression wasn't quite so... _furious_.

"Stark!" He snapped as Tony hauled himself up from his cot. "What in the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

"Gee, it's super to see you, too-"

"I'm not in the mood for jokes," Fury growled. "Hurry up, we haven't got all night. Do you have any idea how many videos of you assaulting that woman have gone viral?" Tony opened his mouth to protest, but the director glared frostily and Tony snapped it shut again, instead following the imposing man back down the hall. "I have a team at the base who can barely keep up with the uploads to terminate, and we still can't keep a lid on it in the papers. No matter how many threats I make, we can't round up all of the pictures. You've stepped in deep shit, Stark. You're lucky that we could even get you out like this; I've been wrestling with NYPD protocols all night. You'd better be worth it."

"You don't understand," Tony interjected despite his sense of self-preservation. "It wasn't a woman at all, it was-"

"Loki. I read the police report." Fury lead them up a flight of stairs and down a narrow hallway that lead to a side alley. A lone officer on a smoke break stared at them openly, eyes darting to the glowing circle in the front of Tony's T-shirt before he returned his attention to his cigarette. Fury lowered his voice as they emerged onto the street and headed for a black, nondescript van. "You said it was Loki, and I believe you. Thor reexplained his brother's powers to the rest of the team, and they believe you. However, when the papers hit the stands tomorrow morning, New York and the rest of the tri-state area is _not_ going to believe you."

Fury held the door to the van open, and when Tony slid into one of the backward-facing seats, he was relieved to see Pepper's tense face sitting across from him. "Hey, Pot-"

"My God, your _face_!" She screeched, her hands going to her own cheeks. The display reminded him oddly of Loki's charade the previous day.

"That good, eh?" Tony tried to twist around to see himself in the rear-view mirror, but his ribs protested and he settled for the itty-bitty makeup mirror that Pepper offered him. It didn't show him anything unexpected. The worst bruising was around his left eye, a livid black-purple color that suited an eggplant more than it suited his face. The paler bruise on his jaw would have looked better in comparison had it not been marred in the middle by an ugly little scrape that had leaked a small trail of blood down his chin. Tony decided that he didn't really _want_ to see the damage done to his chest.

Fury had seated himself beside Pepper (Tony suspected that this was so he could benefit as much as possible from the man's unrelenting glare) and slammed the door behind him before reaching for the seat belt. Tony thought about leaving his off just to be cheeky, but decided against it. After all he had been though, it would be a terribly stupid way to die.

"Tony," Pepper seemed to have recovered from the initial shock of seeing him, "what on earth were you _thinking?_"

Tony bristled. Why was everyone treating him like a bad guy? "I was _thinking_ that a major enemy of ours was gathering information that could be used against innocent people. I'm sorry if my trying to stop him offended you, but since I hadn't realized that you and Loki had become such good friends, I-"

"Oh, stop it. You know I'm on your side here, but I just don't understand what was going through your head! You didn't have your suit or any kind of weapon at all! You didn't even have _handcuffs_, Tony!" Beside her, Fury was nodding along slightly, his features grim. "You're lucky that Loki didn't decide to kill you right then and there!"

"Well, he didn't." Pepper opened her mouth to protest, but Tony steamrolled over her. "Besides, you guys are missing the point- when I saw him, he was looking at blueprints for an _apartment complex_. As in, future homes of kids and pets and stuff. It occurred to me that rather than whipping out my cell phone and calling Steve or Thor, it would be quicker to try to grab him and subdue him before he could get any ideas."

Fury spoke up. "But that isn't what happened, Stark. If anything, you only gave Loki more reason to lay low and stay out from under our radar."

Tony sat back, arms folded and fists clenched. "I'm sorry, am I being _blamed_ for this? I tried to do the right thing-!"

"Precisely. You tried and you failed."

Tony felt equal parts hot and cold. His bruises and temples throbbed, and he forced himself to breathe deeply. God, he wanted a drink. "I won't defend myself to you."

The director's voice began to rise. "Well, that's too damn bad, because you're going to have to do a lot of defending in the next few weeks."

"Why are we assuming that we can't just tell the press the truth? We're the _good guys_, right?" Tony's arms were hurting his chest, but he remained rigid.

Fury didn't respond right away, instead reaching into his overcoat (who wore overcoats in late March, anyway?) and pulling out what looked like a Stark Phone. He pressed a few buttons and passed the phone to Tony.

Looking at the photo, Tony's mouth went dry. It showed him, a fierce grimace on his face, closing his arms around a much smaller woman who was unmistakably flailing and struggling against him. Her long hair flew, concealing her face and part of Tony's. Her skirt was ripped in a few places along the hem, and her entire suit was smeared with dust and grime.

He scrolled to the next one, which was worse. He was harshly gripping the woman - _Loki_, he reminded himself - and there was a satisfied, triumphant tilt to his snarl. He remembered the brief moment of pride as he had gotten a firm hold on the trickster, and cursed inwardly.

The third one made him cringe. The photographer had missed a few seconds of the action. The frame showed Tony's profile as one of the ham-handed construction workers socked him in the jaw, distorting his facial expression into a blur of shock and the beginnings of pain. Tony swallowed his gut reaction and instead zoomed in on the man's hand. As he suspected, there was a little glint-y smudge that had to be a ring on the man's finger. His own fingers twitched as though they wanted to check on the scrape inflicted by the man's jewelry, but Tony contained the reaction. Loki had been reduced to a blurred figure with flying brown hair off to the side of the shot, likely preparing to flee. On the perimeter, the civilians' faces ranged from confusion to surprise to outright rage.

Mutely, he handed back the phone back to Fury. He'd had his fill of pictures, but he seriously doubted that those would be the last ones he would see.

Across from him, Pepper was silent. He could feel her staring at him, and wondered if he would find sadness or disappointment if he looked up. Fury's voice bordered on being downright unkind as he said, "I'd prepare a statement if I were you, Stark. I suspect that you would be best suited to conjure a story on your own, judging from your past with media control, but I would advise you to accept any advice that your team offers you, especially Thor."

Tony frowned at him, crossing his arms again despite the discomfort. "What happened to telling the truth? With Thor's testimony, we would have no problem proving..." He trailed off, staring at the director's stony expression.

"Stark... you can't go around telling people that Loki is a shape shifter. Do you have any idea what kind of panic would ensue? Nobody would trust anybody, and we can't handle that kind of toxic environment; it's exactly what Loki wants. I forbid it."

Pepper winced at the word "forbid," as though she could see Tony's proverbial hackles rising. "Director Fury, I don't think-"

"Let me see if I understand you," Tony broke in, addressing Fury. Pepper's face flushed with anger at the interruption, and Tony knew he was pushing her patience. "You want me to lie though my teeth to protect you and yours with some half-assed story that I 'conjure' up? Stellar plan, only you seem to have forgotten a little something. This isn't just my reputation on the line, it's the Avengers' reputation, something that can't really do with crappy PR right now. You're willing to let the backlash hit us to avoid a few paranoid New Yorkers? Talk about a toxic environment."

Fury looked murderous. "You think I've forgotten? Stark, you really don't have a Goddamn clue what we're dealing with. A minor offense by an Avenger that will be explained - thoroughly - by him while he is backed by his team and his company? That will blow over in a few months. If we reveal that Loki can become anyone he wants, we might as well thrown a few dozen barrels of chum into Florida's beaches. And for once, the press are not the sharks in this metaphor. Trust is already plenty hard to come by in New York. I won't let you make it even scarcer."

Tony stared. "You lost me at the shark thing, but I'm pretty sure that it's still bullshit. Or bull_shark_..."

"Dammit, Stark!" Pepper jumped at Fury's shout. "You can't imagine the random killings and accidents that will start popping up by the dozens if you shout this to the skies. Grandpa comes home late after an orchestra concert and is shot by his son-in-law, who was sure it was Loki. A cop shoots a hoodlum who made a few snarky, superior remarks that reminded him of Loki. A neighborhood gang beats the crazy, old, homeless man to death because they heard him talking to himself thought it was Loki, casting a spell on them. And that's not even counting the thousands of minor assaults, or the wild goose chases that the police will be sent on by protective mothers and other concerned citizens who will swear up and down that a fellow human being is Loki. Chaos, Stark, that's what you're threatening me with, and it's exactly what Loki knows best. Believe me."

The van slowed and came to a stop, the brakes seeming loud in the silence that followed Fury's outburst. He sighed, seeming to realize his loss of volume control, and rubbed his face with one hand. "I'll still schedule a press conference for you," he began more quietly. "But Stark, you've got to keep your mouth _shut_."

Tony recoiled slightly, his glare returning full force. Director Fury could have said "Please, Stark," or "Will you take that into consideration, Stark?" or even "Trust me, Stark" (not that Tony would've). But no.

_Keep your mouth shut._

It vaguely reminded Tony of his father.

"We'll see." he said quietly. Dangerously.

Fury jerked back at the tone, his eye narrowing. Pepper, who had been looking drained and a little frightened a moment before, shook her head with a snort of disgust as she opened the door nearest her. Tony followed after leveling Fury with one last glare. He was sure the Director's answering scowl was superior, but he didn't care.

They had arrived at the Mansion. It surprised Tony that he was taken here and not to the Stark office building, but, then again, the Mansion was his official home now.

He strode forward without a word to Pepper, though he sensed that she was itching to rip into him about what had transpired during the day and during the car ride. He wasn't in the mood to deal with getting yelled at and spat on all over again. Instead, he lengthened his stride to make it to the door before her and let himself in, slamming it behind him.

* * *

**Heh- that got a little out of hand. But hey, Fury knows what he's talking about. I hope. *shrugs***

**I _loved_ getting reviews the first time around, and I really hope that you guys write a little something about the story, even if it's just to yell at me for thoroughly messing up or being confusing or something. I'll take what I can get!**

**Anyway. See you all tomorrow!**

**Cheers!**

**-BlackSheep**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello, lovelies!**

**I haven't been very good about telling you about how the Avengers got to this point in the movie 'verse, so this chapter will clear some of that up (hopefully!). Just to be safe, I'll say here that this occurs about 6-8 months after the end of the Avengers (as in, the team is still contemporary, but there aren't as many of those leviathans sunbathing on buildings).**

**Disclaimer: Not Mine!**

**Warning: More swearwords. I think I have a problem...**

* * *

The estate used to belong to the Stark family, so it was fitting that Tony was able to disappear into one of the side corridors to try to avoid coming face-to-face with one of his teammates (and to keep Pepper off his trail).

S.H.I.E.L.D. had suggested that he utilize it as a, quote, "mutual gathering site to serve as a temporary home for any and all Avengers that are in need of shelter." In short, a place to crash. Tony wasn't sure if Fury had intended it to be the team's full-time home, but it had rather turned out that way.

Without a Tesseract to guard, Clint had been the first one to set up camp. He happily occupied much of the third floor, which contained long hallways that he used for target practice (not that he needed the practice, in Tony's opinion) until the construction on his official shooting range in the subterranean floors was complete.

Natasha had followed, insisting that she would only stay through the duration of the reconstruction of New York. Although the construction was, admittedly, ongoing (sites like the one Tony had crossed were all too common these days), she showed no sign of leaving. Quite the opposite, if her furniture-shopping was anything to go by.

Upon first hearing the idea, the Captain had been more openly hesitant than the rest, stating that he would prefer his own living space. This was before he had learned that his "own living space" had been destroyed by one of the flying metal behemoths. He had then accepted with a tight jaw and weary eyes.

Bruce had been the only real exception. Although he had bunked with them in the beginning, an incident involving an exploding toaster (Tony had _wondered_ where it had gone) convinced him that he was better off on his own. Tony was loathe to let an intellectual (almost) equal of his drop off the map, and had promised to get to work reinforcing the walls and internal structure of the Mansion so that Banner could stay there more permanently later on. In the meantime, the doctor had agreed to stay in the Mansion whenever he was in New York and to keep them up to date on where he would be so that they could call on him whenever something important arose.

Somehow, Thor's situation was more complicated.

He was absent for several weeks during the initial clean-up of Manhattan, presumably dealing with Loki on Asgard. However, upon his unexpectedly soon return, he confessed that there had been less "dealing with Loki" and more "searching frantically for Loki after he escaped from his thrice-reinforced, magical cell." (When Clint had asked if Thor had fallen for Loki's incorporeal trick again, Thor had snapped that _no_, he certainly had _not_, despite the angry and embarrassed blush that covered his cheeks.) After his arrival, he had ended up helping out on street-clearing duty, and - of course - crashing at the Mansion. (This one was less of a surprise to Tony - after all, where else would the big guy stay?)

Tony's thoughts were interrupted as he ran smack into a big, broad chest. He stepped back to steady himself, wincing as he brought one hand up to his own bruised torso. Speak of the thunder god...

"Tony! I apologize, my friend." Thor looked down at him, visibly contrite. He had donned the clothes he wore for relaxing: a XXL T-shirt that was still pulled taut over the muscles in his chest and arms and a set of miraculously loose-fitting jeans.

Tony forced a smile, though it pulled at the bruises. "Don't worry about it. It was mostly my fault, I was just... thinking." Tony cocked his head to one side, peering beyond Thor and into the dim hallway. "How'd you end up in this part of the Mansion?"

"I was similarly preoccupied, and had embarked on a walk to ease my mind. My footsteps lead me here." His welcoming smile turned grim. "I have heard of Loki's treacherous acts towards you, and I apologize once more on his behalf."

Tony snorted despite himself, and moved to pass Thor. "I appreciate it, but I doubt that Loki is very sorry."

Thor put a firm hand on Tony's shoulder, stopping his progress and forcing him to meet his blue gaze. "You will not have to face the coming storm alone, Tony. I shall not allow my brother to tarnish your name with his trickery; I will defend your honor to the best of my ability. What is more, I am certain that our fellow Avengers will act similarly." Thor nodded somberly to emphasize how serious he was.

A more genuine smile tugged at the edges of Tony's mouth. "Thanks, Thor. You won't have much opportunity to defend me tonight, though, so you'd better get some rest."

The larger man nodded and murmured his assent before clapping Tony on the back once more and heading off down the hall.

After a moment of warring with his pride, Tony spoke up again. "Er... Thor?" The god turned. "In the morning, do you think you could help me develop the story for the press?"

Thor nodded again; his smile was not quite as broad as Tony had come to expect, but it was still reassuring. "Do not fear, Tony. We shall reveal my evil brother's mischief for what it truly is." With a final, grimmer smile, Thor turned and headed down the hall, towards his chambers.

Tony didn't have the heart to correct him; instead, he yawned heartily and continued on his way to the lab. There was a cot down there, and while he could use an honest bed, it was nearly impossible to get upstairs to his actual room without crossing paths with his teammates. In the meantime, he just wanted to rest. He needed to rest. Because if he didn't, his thoughts would end up chasing themselves in circles and he would lose focus entirely. And that was probably what Loki wanted.

Loki. This whole mess was _his_ fault. Tony could feel his fists clenching at his sides. The little bastard was probably having a good laugh right about now from wherever he had holed up.

Loki had returned shortly after Thor, creating a crater in Central Park and causing the resident Thunder God to go on a rabid search expedition throughout most of New York. Eventually, the public disturbance complaints filed against him (the guy was _anything _but stealthy) became too numerous to ignore, and he was asked to stop his constant hunt. Thor had remained sullen for days, only emerging from his room to help with debris removal. Loki, meanwhile, had been keeping a low profile. Thor had supposed that his brother had used a terrific amount of magic in order to transport himself to Midgard without the aid of the Tesseract, and was keeping a low profile until his magic was replenished.

Which it obviously was, Tony thought, remembering the sudden transformation. The memory of the god smirking at him from the street corner rose to his mind's eye, and he scowled once more; Loki had played him like a Pac-Man machine.

Tony found himself at the door to the basement sooner than he expected. It was entirely old-fashioned looking except for the knob, which had been taken out entirely. Instead, there was a panel, no larger than two inches on each side, which showed a digital number pad. As Tony touched the numbers of his code, it scanned his fingerprints and swung forward to admit him.

_Welcome home, Sir,_ the familiar voice said as Tony descended the stairs (there was an elevator, but it was a central fixture in the Mansion, and therefore would make it more difficult to avoid his team. And Pepper.). _ Is there anything I can do for you?_

"Med kit would be nice, JARVIS."

_Of course, Sir. I have already placed it at your bedside._

Tony nodded to himself as he made his way through his workroom, thinking about Nick Fury and Thor and Loki. (Mostly Loki.) He sighed heavily, knowing that he wouldn't be able to get to sleep without knowing the damage thus far.

"JARVIS, pull up any of today's news reports that mention me or Loki."

_Certainly. _There was a brief pause before the projections above his main desk came to life. There were only three primary panels, each one about him; Fury had done a good job keeping it contained. Tony approached the desk after grabbing the medicine kit from the floor by his bed.

_Shall I call Ms. Potts to assist you, Sir?_

"That won't be necessary, JARVIS."

_Sir, it is not advisable to treat any cracked bones or other internal injuries on your own-_

"I've recently realized that I'm not great at taking advice." Tony opened the first media folder. It was a clip from the late-night news.

_Only recently, Sir?_

"You're hilarious, JARVIS." Tony pressed play on the video and opened the kit, looking for cold packs. He was sure that they had a couple that reacted and became cold when shaken or cracked or something, like a glow-stick. Sure enough, he found one beneath the splints, bashed it against the desk to jump-start the reaction. He pressed it to the side of his face, listening to the reporter's voice as he did his best to soak up the cold.

_"...and here's a shocking story for gossip columnists and crime lovers alike: earlier today, Tony Stark, the famous 'Iron Man', was arrested for the assault of a mystery woman on Fifth Avenue. Eyewitnesses state that he tackled the young woman to the ground and then tried to keep her from running away from him, causing her to scream for help. He was taken into custody immediately, as an NYPD officer witnessed the events. The internet has begun to buzz about Mr. Stark's motive for attacking the young woman, with speculation varying from temporary insanity to a sinister plot. Because the woman vanished from the scene, some of Mr. Stark's more steadfast supporters have suggested that she was involved in criminal activity, and have stated that Mr. Stark's arrest should be overturned until the woman's testament can be obtained. However, bystanders stick firmly to their stories. We expect that Tony Stark will be out on bail within a day or so, and will then make a statement regarding his actions."_

The clip ended, and Tony sat back in his chair, wondering if his "steadfast supporters" were actually S.H.I.E.L.D. agents trying to make him look good. Whatever the case may be, at least New York thought there was someone sticking up for him. He eyed the other two media files, but couldn't bring himself to play them. Instead, he went for the smaller band-aid box in the med kit, using the kit's reflective lid as a mirror so that he could place the gauzy bit over the cut on his chin.

Afterwards, he forced himself to pull the hem of his T-shirt up to his chin to assess the damage to his chest (he hadn't been able to muster the courage to look at it during his time in the jail).

He swallowed. It didn't hurt _that _badly at the moment, but it looked like he had been trampled by elephants. Or rhinos. Whichever breed was more aggressive.

_Sir... I believe that now would be the time to call Ms.-_

"Mute," He muttered, moving his fingers gingerly over the bruises, not quite touching them. The biggest of the two blots had barely missed the arc reactor, where Tony had been kneed by one of the angrier men (were they on steroids or something? Jeez...), and though the smaller one wasn't quite so purple, it had ugly red blotches that made him cringe. Tony knew that he needed to prod the skin to feel for cracked ribs or swelling, but, unsurprisingly, he wasn't too keen to do so.

"Unmute. JARVIS, what are the odds of internal injuries for bruises like these?"

_You should know this by now, Sir._

"Don't be mad at me for putting you on silent; I was just trying to focus."

_I would truly prefer calling Ms. Potts to assessing your injuries based on previously gathered data. It would only take a moment, Sir, seeing as she has been trying to enter for the past few minutes._

Tony glanced up from his chest, eyes darting warily to the door. "And you didn't tell me?"

_I was rather mute at the time._

"Oh. Well, don't let her in. She'll yell at me."

_Yes, it is rather likely that she will._

"Would it be possible for you to scan my chest?" The more Tony looked at the bruises, the more he didn't want to aggravate them.

_Possible, yes, but not advisable. Although we have been constantly improving the software and machinery at the Mansion, we do not yet possess an X-ray machine. We would have to make due with our ordinary scanner, which would only be able to penetrate a few layers of skin or muscle-_

"But could you try?"

_...Of course, Sir. I shall need you to stand in the center of the room. _

Tony stood, grimacing as the workshop's walls wiggled ominously. He should really get to bed, but his mind was moving too quickly at the moment to accommodate his body's need for rest.

_Hold still, Sir._

"Don't I always?" Tony grumbled, holding his arms out to either side as the lights dimmed and JARVIS allowed the scanners to sweep once, twice over Tony's torso. A moment later, a life-sized virtual model appeared over Tony's desk, replacing the news reports. The bruises were represented with splotches of yellow and the occasional bit of orange. "Well?"

_It would appear that you were lucky, Sir. The scan did not pick up any serious bone breaks or internal bleeding. Still, it could very well have missed any hairline fractures or other small but serious injuries beyond its detecting capabilities. I recommend that you have a proper X-ray after resting._

"We'll see, JARVIS." A yawn caught Tony by surprise. He blinked a few times afterwards, and, upon realizing that he had to struggle to re-open his eyes, decided to give up on staying awake and researching. He made his way to the bed and eased himself onto the cot, calling, "Wake me by eleven, won't you?"

_Of course, Sir._

Tony stared up at the ceiling as the lights dimmed and went out, leaving the glowing of the arc reactor and his numerous inventions. As he had suspected, his mind continued to fly even as his eyelids drooped. Voices overlapped in his head, imagined and remembered and numbing.

* * *

_Keep your mouth shut._

_My God, your face!_

_... brain is a bag full of cats._

_He is my brother._

_... mouth shut._

_He won't let me go, HELP!_

_... killed eighty people in two days._

_Get off her!_

_... we shall reveal my evil brother's mischief..._

_What have I to fear?_

_...my evil brother's mischief..._

_It_ burns_ you to have come so close._

_... my evil brother..._

_Sir?_

_... my evil brother ..._

* * *

_Sir!_

Tony jolted awake with a curse, his heart trying to escape his chest as he fought to regain his breath and bearings.

* * *

**I know, I know, most of you are probably mad at me for delaying the press conference. *raises hands innocently* I'm just trying to be thorough! And realistic! And- *ducks a projectile* Okay, okay, I'll get back to writing...**

**Anyway, I have _loved_ reading reviews from you lovely readers, and I hope that you all will find it in your hearts to toss me a few words. I would be oh-so-grateful! :)**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep**


	4. Chapter 4

**Whoo! I love this chapter almost as much as I love _reviews!_ Maybe _more!_**

**Speaking of reviews, though, you guys are awesome. Your kind (and often impatient) words are what drive me to write (even when I should really be working).**

**Disclaimer: It's not mine (yet).**

**Warning: Let's just say that there will be swearing in every single chapter in this story. That way, a warning will actually be important and worth reading.**

* * *

_Sir!_

Tony sat bolt upright, gasping and sweating. Around him, the lights of his work space flipped on smoothly, but it did nothing to ease the chills that wracked his frame. He pushed his drenched hair out of his face, grimacing as his hand grazed the bruises.

_I apologize for the unorthodox awakening._

"S'okay, JARVIS." Tony said thickly. His mouth tasted vile and felt fuzzy, as though he had been unusually drunk the night before (if only...).

_Director Fury dropped off the information for your press conference in addition to your personal belongings that were confiscated by the police, including your watch and phone. I believe you have twenty-four missed calls from Ms. Potts._

"Fantastic," Tony grumbled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and picking sleep out of his eyes. "What time is it?"

_Twenty minutes after ten, Sir. I realize that you had requested to sleep until eleven, but Director Fury was adamant that you be awakened sooner to expedite the creation of your cover story._

"Old Saint Nick? Tell him he can bite me."

_I would advise against that, Sir._

"Yeah, yeah... Is the shower down here functional yet?" Tony stood, too aware of the drying crust of sweat that covered most of his body.

_Regrettably not, Sir. Shall I fetch the elevator?_

"That would be wonderful." Tony mumbled, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. His heart was still racing. He had never been much good at remembering his dreams, but when he strained, he remembered snatches of voices- each had seemed familiar, somehow - yet even as he struggled to pin them down, the mechanical whir of the elevator doors brought him back to reality.

_Sir, the lift has-_

"Thanks, I see." Tony stood, rolling his shoulders and walking carefully to the elevator. It seemed that today would be one of those days. The days where he re-learned how many of his (damaged) muscles were involved in simple motions like walking, reaching, lifting, sitting. Even stretching his arm forward to press the button on the elevator was enough to make him cringe at the sudden, blooming pain in his chest.

_It would seem that your injuries have stiffened considerably during the night._

"You're not wrong." Tony leaned against the wall of the elevator, resisting the urge to close his eyes and take a cat-nap during the ride. The doors opened too soon, and with too many people on the other side.

Well, one person too many.

"Shit!" Clint barked in surprise upon seeing Tony. Eyes wide, he stepped forward, examining his friend's face. "Did they arrest the jackass who did that?"

"Jackasses, and no, not that I'm aware of." Tony glanced around- they were only on the first floor. "Look, I'd really hate to run into Pepper, so could you-?"

"Yeah, man. You go, I'll hold her off." Clint moved back a few paces, and Tony smiled gratefully. Clint had grown on him in the months since their initial meeting. The archer's affinity for alcohol and his wicked, often scandalous wit had made him an ideal candidate for a friend, and his frequent willingness to help Tony hide from Pepper only sweetened the deal.

The doors closed, and Tony sagged against the wall once more. He was grateful that Clint hadn't asked him immediately about the events at the construction site, though he knew the other man was probably itching to know the details.

On the second floor, he hurried as much as he could to the section of rooms that served as his private quarters. The team had divvied up the house with reasonable equality- Captain had the private half of the first floor to himself whenever Bruce was away, while Tony and Thor bunked on the second floor. Although Clint claimed to be king of the topmost floor, Natasha's rooms occupied a decent chunk of the space.

Tony hoped to be fortunate enough to avoid Thor altogether, but to no avail:

"Tony!"

And just outside Tony's own door, too (_So close..._). He turned, his offered smile faltering when Thor made a noise of surprise.

"My friend, your bruises did not appear so terrible last night!"

Tony frowned, lifting a hand to his face. "What, have they gone yellow already or something?"

Thor's eyes were wider than Clint's for a moment before he seemed to calm himself a bit. "Not at all. I suppose the lighting in the downstairs hallway was simply poorer than that of this one."

Tony blinked up at the overly-bright fluorescent bulbs for a moment. "True... these are kind of in-your-face, huh?"

"Yes, that must be the reason." Thor's gaze never left Tony's face. "I must apologize once more on behalf of my brother-"

"Thor, don't worry about it. Seriously. You're being a massive help with this pain-in-the-ass press conference, and there's really no need for you to feel guilty over your brother."

Thor nodded slowly, his face contemplative. "I realize that I had no direct involvement, Tony, but it still pains me to think of my brother behaving so, especially towards you or another member of our team. He has truly shamed our family with his horrendous acts."

Though he nodded along, Tony wondered internally if Thor was feeling alright. The big guy never talked about his brother in a way that wasn't either sad or frustrated; sometimes he even bordered on affectionate. But this way of speaking, this bitterness in his voice wasn't something Tony had ever heard before. Tony almost asked if he was okay, but since he obviously wasn't, he decided against it (What? He _really_ needed to shower!). Still, he stretched a hand up to Thor's shoulder (straining his ribs, might he add), and said to Thor's surprised face, "It'll get better, okay? With the press and with Loki."

He smiled once more at Thor, who looked like he didn't know whether or not to hug Tony. The billionaire dissuaded this idea by stepping back and putting his hand on the print-scanner beside his door. "See you downstairs? You did say you would help me with the conference."

"Yes, of course! It would please me greatly to assist you." Thor's broadest grin was back, and Tony tried his hardest to ignore the throbbing at his chin when he returned it to the best of his ability.

Then he was closing the door behind him and sinking against it, head throbbing spectacularly and muscles aching as well. He sighed heavily. At least he had made it up there without Pepper catching/yelling at him.

"JARVIS? Start the shower, please."

_Certainly, Sir._

As the spray sounded in the bathroom, Tony engaged in his tradition of walking through the enormous first room to the bathroom, shucking his clothes as he went (although, it was admittedly a little slower than usual, considering the bruises than restricted his movements).

The smelly, sweat-caked shirt landed on the ebony coffee table; the socks plopped onto the leather lounge chair by the fireplace (as opposed to _in_ the fireplace, which was a different, more entertaining story); his jeans managed to catch on the top of the long-necked lamp, making it sway forbiddingly before stilling.

(Yes, that was it. Honestly, who wore underwear anymore?)

The display was considerably more impressive in winter, when he had coats and gloves and clunky boots and, you know, wasn't swearing loudly whenever he strained his muscle-aches.

_I advise that you make haste, Sir. Ms. Potts has just now arrived, and I believe she is not above forcing her way into your shower._

"Wonderful," Tony grumbled, walking straight into the shower. "JARVIS, could you tell me everything you can about what the media has been saying- ouch! - and ease up on the water pressure!" Tony shielded his chest from the beating spray (just how he liked it - usually) with one of his hands.

_Already done, Sir. As for the media..._

As Tony showered, he listened with a sinking heart to what JARVIS told him. Although Fury had done major damage-control with the video and pictures, there were still grainy shots of him and the woman (_Loki_, he reminded himself) that had made it into most of the papers. Many had scornful quotes from the witnesses and workers. Only one supported him, saying that the abrupt arrest without testimony was terribly rushed, and that the men who had beaten Tony should come forward and receive punishment. However, Tony was pretty sure that the supporting paper was controlled and/or owned by S.H.I.E.L.D.

Tony's mind was muddled as he turned off the water and began his post-shower routine. Most of his thoughts revolved around Loki (was the building in danger? Should construction be postponed? How the hell was Tony going to find him now?), while another portion revolved around Fury's warning (being blamed for mass panic was never fun, nor was getting his ass kicked by the director), and the tiniest portion of his mental capacity strained to remember his dream (there was something he needed to remember, something important, something subtle).

It was therefore understandable that by the time Tony managed to get himself (almost) properly dressed and downstairs, there was a hoard of people waiting for him in the kitchen.

_"Anthony Edward Stark!"_

Needless to say, some faces were more welcoming than others.

"Pepper..." Tony stepped forward, hands raised to placate her. "Let me just-"

_"No!"_ Pepper was livid, and had probably been so all night. Tony hadn't seen her like this since... well, yesterday. "For God's _sake,_ Tony, disappearing last night was _childish,_ and _rude_, and _uncalled-for_, and-"

"Ms. Potts." For once, Fury's voice was a welcome distraction. Pepper's ponytail whipped as her head jerked towards the director. "It's not that I don't agree with you on every count, but we have limited time. Yell later."

Pepper looked like she wanted to protest (and possibly resort to violence), but she took a deep breath and backed off, arms crossed tightly.

Tony moved towards the living area, where the whole team (save for Bruce) had gathered. The main area of the first floor consisted of one massive room that included a full kitchen on one half and a gigantic living area across the room, complete with a massive flat-screen and a plethora of leather couches and corduroy armchairs.

The team had collectively collapsed into the cushy furniture to wait for him (although "collapsed" was a significant stretch when describing Fury, who was standing ramrod-straight in front of the TV). Hawkeye and Black Widow had claimed the two loungers beside the L-shaped couch where Thor and the Captain sat. There was a terrific difference in the postures of the latter pair; Steve sat up straight, waiting attentively for orders or an "at ease, soldier," while Thor's massive frame had sprawled across a significant portion of the black leather. Tony couldn't help but wonder if their positions shouldn't be reversed- it wasn't in the Captain's nature, sure, but hadn't Thor been distraught just a half-hour or so ago?

Tony pushed the thought from his head, instead moving to sit at Thor's feet in the middle of the "L." Pepper remained upright, opting to stand by Fury.

"Alright," The director ground out. "The conference is in two hours. Let's snap to it. Stark? Any bright ideas so far?"

Tony tried his hardest not to glower at the other man. He almost succeeded. "Well, obviously Loki won't come forward in pretending to be a woman. We should take full advantage of that since, y'know, we're not actually telling the press that it _was_ Loki..."

Clint rocked forward in his chair. "The hell do you mean, not telling the press?" Everyone else except Pepper and Fury were looking similarly bemused. Thor sat up slightly, one brow raised.

Tony spoke before Fury could. "Our friendly neighborhood director over there doesn't think it's a great idea to go around telling people that Loki can become whoever he wants."

"It would create panic. We've already established that. Move on, Stark."

Tony wondered if the director's default setting was "Thunderous." It certainly seemed like it. "Like I said, we can BS all we want since Loki won't be coming forward. We could even say that she was working for Loki, or that he had tricked her into it."

Captain America broke in, "But we're assuming, and we should have learned by now that it's a bad idea to assume anything when Loki is involved. What if he does appear again? Thor- is there any way to force Loki into his natural form? A trigger of some kind?"

Thor tilted his head and furrowed his brow. "Such a method surely exists, though I have no knowledge of it. I was never captivated by the study of magic as my brother was."

"Well, let's hope he stays out of our hair," Clint grumbled, reaching for a mug of coffee on one of the end tables.

"But will he?" Natasha spoke. "He's finally resurfaced after months of sneaking around out of sight. Maybe he's preparing to try something big."

"He was looking at a blueprint for the apartment complex a few blocks away on Sixth," Tony offered. He hoped that they would decide to look into the building; he thought about Loki sticking a bomb somewhere inside the structure like some sick time-capsule and stifled a shudder.

"But that's not what we're discussing at present," Fury interrupted the discussion. There was tension in his jaw and voice alike. "We're here to keep Stark from getting slaughtered by the press any more than he already has."

"Hold on a second." Clint sat up straight in his chair, frowning. "I want to know why the officer arrested Tony without batting an eye, but didn't bother cuffing the paint-huffing buffoons that got violent. I mean," he raised his hands to halt the immediate responses. "If it had been me, I'd be seriously pissed that they got off without so much as a smack on the backs of their hands."

"We'll chat about that later, Barton. We have more imminent concerns right now." Fury's glare left no room for opposition.

"I doubt that Tony's face feels the same way," he muttered, but leaned back all the same. Tony shot him a grin, and the archer responded with a shrug and an eye-roll.

The Captain piped up again. "Let's go through this step by step. If Tony tells it like a story, then presumably he'll start with seeing something suspicious, like this 'woman' sabotaging part of the site or something similar. Right?"

There were a few hesitant nods, but Tony tipped his head back and groaned. "I hate lying to the press. It never goes well."

"You just think that because you outed yourself as Iron Man the last time it was this important," Pepper muttered.

"That's only part of it." Tony grumbled. He could hear Clint snickering quietly. Traitor.

"Well, get over it, Stark." Natasha reclined lazily, looking a bit bored. "Something that might work a little more smoothly than an outright lie would be-"

The sound of the front door slamming reverberated throughout the room. Everyone's heads turned simultaneously towards the noise. Beside Tony, Thor's legs twitched. Tony sat up and did a head count. Aside from Dr. Banner, they were all accounted for.

"Bruce?" He called, twisting around despite his protesting ribs to peer into the hallway that lead to the entrance hall. The heavy footsteps were even more confusing - Bruce walked like a pixy when he wasn't all green and huge.

With his mind following this train of thought, it was even more shocking when the booming voice preceded the large figure into the kitchen. "My friends, I have searched for Loki for endless hours but have been unable to locate-"

Tony leaped up with a shout as Thor came into view in full armor, Mjölnir in hand, still speaking loudly.

The whole room went deadly still as the battle-ready Thor locked eyes with his reclining counterpart on the couch. After a moment, a grin slipped across the face of the latter.

"Not that I don't love horribly awkward silences, but I believe I shall take my leave of you all." Blue eyes were melting into green as they met Tony's. "Heal swiftly, Man of Iron."

The two bullets and the arrow only penetrated the couch and a wisp of green smoke. As Natasha and Fury lowered their Glocks and Clint let his bow rest on his lap, all eyes were on the two fresh holes and the arrow sticking out of the armrest where Loki's head had been.

* * *

**I believe the word for this phenomenon is Loki'd. Hehe- I know of at least one reader who guessed (I tried to drop some hints), but I hope I surprised most of you!**

**Anyway, I need to get back to writing. And by writing, I mean work. Yeah. Definitely. *eyes the Microsoft icon***

**Review if you have any feedback, love and hate alike. *puppy eyes***

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello, dears!**

**Let me begin by saying how _thrilled_ I was to see all of the wonderful reviews that you all left me! Thank you all so much! I hoped that I would be able to respond to all of them, but between working and writing and planning more of this story, I haven't been able to. But thank you all so much for your kindness and support!**

**This is _such_ a long chapter- I almost cut it, but a few little birds said that they don't mind lengthy chapters, so... *winks* Plus, I thought you guys deserved a little extra something for all those awesome reviews!**

**Disclaimer: not mine. *pouts***

**Warnings: LOTS of swearing. As usual.**

**Onward!**

* * *

Tony thought he might pass out. The room spun and his empty stomach roiled. "That- that... Thor was... Loki was...?"

He stared around the room, but no one seemed to have answers. Natasha wore a grim expression while Clint looked shocked and angry. Their hands remained on their weapons as though they expected Loki to come bounding through the wall of windows that lead to the backyard. Pepper had acquired that horrible paleness that usually accompanied horrific events (Tony supposed that this counted). At her side, Fury's shell of controlled anger had fractured slightly, leaving a dangerous gleam in his eye and a set of tight knuckles on the handle of his gun. Likewise, the Captain was gripping the seat cushion almost hard enough to rip the leather, and his eyes were wild.

Thor was the worst, though.

Even from across the room, Tony could see the naked pain and confusion in his blue eyes, the anguish and anger warring for control. Without a word to the others, he spun around and stalked back into the dimmer hallway. No one called after him- shaken though they were, they still knew better than to go after Thor when he didn't want company.

A short, terse sigh made Tony turn. Fury was rubbing his forehead with the hand that held his gun, looking as though he was internally reminding himself that there was nothing left for him to shoot. "I need to get to headquarters and get people on this. We'll send you note cards for the conference, Stark; just show up in a suit and some reading glasses and try not to fuck up."

Tony bit his tongue as Fury passed him in a whirl of overcoat. He knew better than to protest when that man had a gun in his hand (but seriously, _reading glasses?_).

It wasn't until the front door slammed that Tony finally staggered to the couch, excess adrenaline making him nauseous and restless all at once.

"What the fuck are we supposed to do now?" Clint muttered.

No one had an answer. Tony was cradling his head and rubbing his temples, trying to think. When he lowered his hands, he caught his fingers trembling.

"Did Thor say all night? He said 'searching for hours,' but does that mean all night?" Natasha was trying to be rational. Tony appreciated it.

"Hell if I know. Ask him yourself," Clint's tone was hostile, but his eyes were bordering on panic.

Pepper and Steve stayed silent, processing internally. Everyone was having a freak-out in his or her own way, it seemed.

Tony suddenly sat up straight, feeling equal parts brilliant and stupid. "Thor wasn't here at all last night. I ran into him- into _Loki_ - on my way to the workshop. I should've known that something was off... Thor never goes into that part of the Mansion. And he said... said _something_..." Tony squinted at the carpet, aware of everyone's gazes on the back of his head. "Something about Loki being evil. I should've known right then and there... Thor would never call Loki _evil_."

"At four AM? We all say stupid shit at four in the fucking morning. Why would you notice something like that?" Clint stood suddenly and headed out of Tony's line of sight, towards the kitchen. When he reappeared, he was carrying a bottle of scotch from the cabinet and a few glasses. Nobody spoke as he poured, though Natasha muttered something about vodka when she accepted hers. Tony downed his in one go and slammed it back down onto the coffee table, eyes watering a little. It had been a generous glass.

Even as he went at his second one, Pepper didn't chastise him about drinking two hours before a press conference. She seemed to have realized that arguing would be pointless, and instead reached for one of the spare glasses (though she sipped instead of Tony's preferred gulping).

Only the Captain abstained. "What-" his voice cracked, and he coughed. "What if Loki left something behind? Some sort of explosives, or-?"

"JARVIS?" Tony called.

_Already scanning, Sir._

It took a few tense moments for the search to finish (it was a _Mansion_, okay?), but JARVIS's voice came back quickly enough. _Scans are not picking up any malignant or unusual items._

"Yeah, well, did the scans pick up any malignant or unusual _people_ at all last night?" Steve snapped. Already on his third, Tony glanced over at the Captain. His skin was shining with sweat and almost as pale as Pepper's.

_Not at all._

"Nothing? No footage of a Thor-clone sabotaging our gas mains or setting up bear traps in the hallways?"

_Mr. Stark had all of Director Fury's monitoring devices thrown into the Hudson River. We have no other internal monitoring systems._

Steve's head whipped around and pinned Tony with an accusing stare. "No surveillance equipment? What were you-?"

"No _internal_ surveillance equipment. I didn't think that anyone would appreciate being recorded while they were eating or showering." Tony's voice was scathing, and he took a swig of scotch to ease the fear and anger pulsing beneath his skin. "Besides, if JARVIS says this place is clean, then it's clean."

"Still," Clint reached for the bottle again, his jaw tight, "I'm sleeping with my bow under my pillow tonight."

"You sleep with your bow under your pillow every night," Natasha muttered.

Clint glowered at her. "My point still stands."

Tony almost snorted, but then he wondered how on earth _he_ was going to be able to fall asleep that night. What could he do against a man who could become anyone? What face would he program JARVIS to target? His heart gave a worried little pang in his chest, and Tony tossed back the rest of his glass.

The Captain's eyes were on him as Tony held out his hand to accept the quickly emptying bottle from Clint. "Should you be drinking like that on an empty stomach?"

"Don't tell me when I'm allowed to drink, Cappy." To emphasize this, Tony poured himself more than was strictly necessary.

Pepper stood shakily, her face having regained a little color. "No, Steve's right. But since you're obviously not parting with the alcohol this morning-" (she sipped a bit more from her own glass as though saying, _"and neither am I"_) "-I'll make toast."

"A toast! I love toasts." Tony raised his glass. "What are we toasting?"

"Bread," Pepper called derisively from the kitchen.

"Oh, that's no fun." Tony let his drink fall. "And unless somebody went out last night, we're still out of food," Tony reminded her loudly.

"I did," Steve said, "Before we figured out what had happened to you."

Tony peered at him over the edge of his glass. The alcohol's burn was like a balm on his raw nerves. "Did you happen to pick up any Loki-repellent? It seems that we're all out."

"Really? This again?" Steve let out an irritated breath and stood, running his hands through his hair. "Remind me again, Stark, what does joking accomplish?"

"For one, it gives your face that lovely tomato-tint."

Steve appeared to be doing his best to keep from throttling Tony; his nostrils flared, and he took a deep breath before speaking. "This is _serious._ Loki was in our house, on our_ couch_, and you're acting like nothing has happened. How can you joke when we're facing a security breach that could have been lethal?"

Tony's raised an eyebrow. "But we're all still alive, and therefore still able to get drunk off our asses. It's not like Loki's coming back anytime soon. We'll figure out what to do once the adrenaline wears off." He paused and raised a cautionary finger. "Unless your plan involves cameras in my shower, because Fury already tried that, and it was more than creepy enough then."

The Captain let out an angry huff of air. "I can't deal with you right now, not while you're like this. I'll talk to you when you're sober." He took one step towards the elevator and stopped, turning back to Tony. "Try not to mess up the conference any more than you have to."

Tony, Clint, and Natasha watched him go. As the elevator doors opened to admit the Captain, Clint mumbled something along the lines of "star-spangled buzzkill diva" into his drink.

"He's right, though." Tony and Clint's heads whipped around to stare at Natasha, who shrugged, unaffected. "I'm not saying that we shouldn't be drinking in times of great stress-" she raised her glass, "-I used to be Russian, remember? Plus, by now, I know that no amount of sobering up will cure Stark of his jackassery. I'm just saying that this situation is way out of hand, and we should be brainstorming while we get as inebriated as we possibly can."

"Except for Tony," Pepper interjected, leaning over the back of the couch to hand Tony a plate of toast, "who will only get drunk enough to keep himself calm during the conference. Now eat, or I'll force-feed you."

"Such ugly words," Tony groused, though a grateful light surfaced in his eyes.

"I don't want you throwing up on that woman from Vanity Fair. She hates you enough already."

"It would improve her looks, though." Tony joked before biting into the bread. He nearly choked at the temperature and dryness. "No butter?"

"Get it yourself. I'm not your servant." Pepper's footsteps moved back towards the kitchen.

"But I'm injured," Tony pretended to pout. "_Ouch!_"

He brought up a hand to prod the back of his head before groping for the fresh stick of butter that had fallen beside him. It seemed that Pepper's throwing arm had improved. Clint was laughing heartily, sloshing a bit of his drink onto the knee of his pants, and Natasha was smirking at him. Tony peeled the wax paper away from the butter- after being in the refrigerator, it was awfully rock-like in density.

"Thanks," he said dryly. "I'll get the knife myself, shall I?"

"You could use one of mine," Natasha offered slyly. Alcohol made her cocky, and adrenaline made her restless; Tony had the abrupt wish that he was closer to his armor.

Clint snorted. "Now_ there's_ a bad idea."

"And unnecessary," Pepper said, dropping a butter knife onto the cushion beside Tony. "Be ready to leave at twelve-fifteen, okay? They'll want to do a sound check before the conference."

Tony tilted his head to glimpse the clock behind him. "But... it's already twelve..."

"You'd better get dressed, then," She suggested. Tony couldn't quite see her where she stood behind him, but he had a feeling that she was wearing one of those self-satisfied grins of hers. Tony began pressing bits of butter onto the bread with a bit more force than necessary. Although he was glad that she was recovering from the shock of Loki's infiltration, he wished that she would go elsewhere to be smug. It was irritating.

"Fine, but I'm taking my drink."

"Take the bread. I'll hold on to your drink for you."

"Ha! Fat chance." Tony jerked his glass out of the way of her questing hands, nearly spilling a few precious drops on the carpet. The toast slid ominously on the plate as he stood and danced his way to the elevator. "I'll be down at... what was it? Half past?"

"Tony..."

"Fine, fine, quarter past. Lighten up, would you?" Tony shot her a final smile before the doors closed between them.

* * *

Tony was mostly done getting dressed (his cuff-links were giving his still-shaky fingers a tough time) when he noticed the book.

It sat innocently on his pillow as though it was waiting for Tony to sit down and read someone a bedtime story. Something about it reminded Tony of those guest-books that are found at rental cabins or small inns- the likeness was intensified by the delicate fountain pen that sat innocuously on the other pillow. The book itself was only a half-inch thick, and its cover was broad and clean and plain white, save for two little words embossed in gold. Something Pepper had left him, perhaps?

Tony moved closer, peering at the title.

_The Game_

Realization struck, and Tony's blood chilled and thickened in his veins.

Loki.

Loki had been_ here_.

Here, in Tony's _room._

His stomach dipped and rolled, and he struggled to keep his alcohol down as he moved forward to touch the book. It was bound and covered in a white cloth that was smooth beneath his fingers.

"JARVIS- has anyone entered my room through the door?"

_No, Sir. Is something the matter?_

"Just... monitor this room carefully. Especially while I'm asleep. Wake me if so much as a dust speck lands wrong on the carpet."

_... I will do my best, Sir._

Curiosity gnawed at his fingertips, and before he could think better of it, Tony had plucked the book from the pillow and opened it to the first page. There was more writing in thin, elegant gold script; a single sentence in the center of the page.

_Rule One: Reveal the Book of the Game to no one's eyes but your own._

Tony frowned at the page, re-reading the line. He wasn't supposed to show it to anyone? Like hell he wouldn't.

He turned the page to find an identical format.

_Rule Two: Any meetings, truces, or exchanges will follow the Laws of Juncture._

The Laws of _what?_ Tony found himself torn between continuing to panic about Loki's visit and beginning to feel just a _little_ bit of interest. Instead of choosing, he went for the bottle of whiskey that he kept in his "underwear drawer," thinking to himself as he opened it.

Thor had explained a hundred times that Loki was the God of Mischief, the God of Lying, the God of Tricks. Fury had reiterated that Loki was never to be trusted or allied with under any circumstances. But never in the past few months had anyone said a thing about Loki engaging people one-on-one with any _game._

Loki's words resounded in Tony's head:

_... heal swiftly, Man of Iron ..._

"JARVIS?"

_Yes, Sir?_

"Could you run a full search on the words 'Loki' and 'games'?"

_Naturally, Sir. Shall I send the results to your phone or your tablet?_

"Both." Tony thought for a moment, turning back to the first page. (_Reveal this book to no one's eyes but your own._) "Keep them out of the reach of the others, though. Invisible files, password protected, whatever you have to do. This will be a private project for the time being."

_But Sir, would the other Avengers not want to learn any new information about Loki?_

"Well, I'll share any new information that I learn. If I feel like it," Tony amended.

_Very well, Sir. Additionally, it is nearly twelve-fifteen. Ms. Potts will be waiting._

"Nearly? I have boatloads of time." Tony sat on the edge of his bed and began to turn the pages more quickly.

_Rule Three: All temporary instructions issued for an individual round must be followed by both players of the Game or by the player with a specific role that deals with the instructions._

_Rule Four: Aid from anyone who is not a player of the Game will not be tolerated._

_Rule Five: Any attempt to abandon the Game prior to its completion will result in the immediate penalty of the player at fault._

_Rule Six: Further Rules of the Game may be established when necessary by appearing in the Book of the Game._

_Rule Seven: Failure to comply with any Rules of the Game will result in the immediate termination of the Game and punishment of the defeated player._

Tony turned to the eighth page. The next message was in black ink and a (slightly) less elaborate scrawl.

**_Do you accept the Challenge of the Game, Tony Stark?_**

Tony was about to turn to the next page when he noticed a thin, almost translucent heading across the top of the crisp paper: _Player Correspondence._

Correspondence. As in, Tony could respond?

His heart thumped uncertainly as he set the book on top of his dresser and groped in his pockets for a pen. He found and uncapped it, positioning it above the paper.

Then he stopped.

Thoughts, mostly doubts, were pooling in his gut like liquid lead. This was Loki. Who knows what kind of sick trick this could be? And by signing it, Tony was pretty sure that he was signing away his right to get help from his team, from Fury. What would he do then? The pen creaked ominously in Tony's grip, and he forced his hand to relax. Then he snorted. Yeah- it was a trick. A trickster playing a trick; who could have seen that coming?

He was about to snap the book shut and take it downstairs when a fresh flicker of black appeared on the page. Tony fumbled with the book, sweaty hands slipping on the smooth cover, and opened it again to the correspondence page.

**_I, of course, promise to play fairly..._**

Tony gritted his teeth. It was a trick, a trick, a trick-

More ink:

**_I believe that your acquiescence would be in the best interest of you and your team._**

Tony's stomach dropped. There it was- the subtle threat, the hook to follow the bait. Loki knew that Tony wouldn't leave the rest of the Avengers defenseless, though they would all insist that they could take care of themselves.

Only, Tony thought with an ugly twisting feeling in his chest, they couldn't. Loki had made that perfectly clear by waltzing in, pretending to be Thor. He had displayed his deceptive skills to their fullest, like ripping a sheet off of a terrible, beautiful painting. And because of that, Tony knew that there was no way to guarantee the safety of Clint, or Natasha, or _anyone_. No way at all.

Unless he played Loki's game.

He looked at the pen in his palm for a few painful moments. With unsteady fingers, he forced himself to press it to the paper, to begin to write.

Nothing happened. No ink appeared on the page.

Tony pulled it away, almost sick with adrenaline, and shook the pen furiously. He scribbled a bit on his hand, and the black marks appeared easily, but when he tried once more on the paper, nothing-

**_You must use the proper pen, you ignoramus._**

Tony's gaze snapped from Loki's fourth line of script to the fountain pen that still waited on his other pillow, forgotten.

"Oh. Right."

Hurrying over, Tony picked up the other pen, holding it up to get a better look at it. It was a delicate creation; thin threads of silver curled and wove around abase that seemed to be made of glass. Holding it up to the light, he could just barely see through the gaps left by the silver. Despite being so dainty, it had a surprising weight to it, a heaviness that reminded Tony oddly of the first time he'd held a loaded gun.

(It may as well be, the way he was going to sign his life away with it.)

First, though, Tony wrote:

**_Do you swear that you won't hu_****_rt__ them?_**

In the moments that followed the writing, a hundred things flew though Tony's head. Things like Loki killing him in his sleep, like the look on Pepper's face if she knew what he was doing, like how _stupid _he was, thinking that he could protect his team by making a dirty deal with a devil. They were barely even a team- they had only known each other a few months, anyway. What difference did it make if they died?

Then the guilt came, thick and crushing, and Tony knew that he would never forget it if he ignored this chance to keep them safe.

Then the reply appeared.

_**You ask too much of** **me.**_

Tony thought for a second that he had broken the pen in the flash of rage that followed the single line. And yet, the pen was whole in his hand. Tony was about to write again when JARVIS interrupted his thoughts.

_Sir? It is almost half past. Ms. Potts is waiting rather impatiently._

"I'll be there in a minute, JARVIS, tell her I'll be there in just one minute." Tony hated his voice for shaking, but the stress seemed to have saturated his blood, muscles, and mind.

He wrote:

**_Do you swear __not to kill__ them?_**

The reply was instantaneous.

**_I swear not to kill them on purpose._**

On purpose. That could mean any number of things, but it meant that Loki wouldn't be able to slaughter them in their beds. But Loki would find a way around that, surely he would-

**_I grow impatient, Tony Stark._**

Tony swallowed. Then he reached for the whiskey and swallowed some of that to ease the dryness in his throat.

In spite of those thoughts, those horrible doubts, Tony pressed the nib to the paper and wrote:

**_I accept._**

There was a pause in which the only sound was Tony's blood roaring in his ears. Then:

_**Then let us begin.**_

* * *

**Heh- this was actually one of my better ideas. A small stroke of genius that I believe some people call a "plot." *looks around for confirmation***

**I love your reviews they make my day!), so don't be afraid to send a few thoughts my way, kind or otherwise. (Please?)**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello again! I won't hold you up- read on!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Warning: the usual.**

* * *

Tony stared at the little words, waiting for more. It took almost a minute before he realized that nothing more was going to appear on the correspondence page. Brow furrowed, Tony went back a page, then returned, staring at Loki's writing. Then he flipped one page ahead.

"Oh."

A single row of the same little gold print sat primly in the middle of the page.

_You found me once..._

Tony went on to the next page, wishing that Loki had put it all in one paragraph like a normal person. However, rather than finding more words on a white page waiting for him, Tony found himself staring at a full-color, two-page drawing that perfectly depicted the construction zone from one end of the site. If Tony had seen it in the paper, he would've sworn that it was a snapshot or still-frame; everything was exactly as he remembered it, right down to the pile of two-by-fours that he had knocked over on his way to Loki. In fact...

Tony did a double-take as he saw himself in the drawing, complete with a goatee, bag full of sandwiches, even the Aerosmith T-shirt he had been wearing. Tony flipped to the previous page (You found me once...) before returning to the picture and scanning for black and green. He barely had to try- Loki's form, long and lean, lurked behind the construction workers that stood by the table with those poor, exposed blueprints. It was a remarkable rendition of the scene- he wondered if Loki had drawn it himself or used magic.

He moved on. The next page was more like the others, with a line of text in the middle, but a heading similar to the one from Correspondence page caught his eye.

_Challenge One_

He read the sentence below (though it seemed more like a sentenc_ing_ than merely a sentence):

_... so, find me once more._

Tony flipped the page.

"Oh, fuck."

Though the book was tall and broad enough to have a Mona Lisa on each page, the two adjoining pages were packed with people barely a centimeter tall. The thought that came to Tony's overwhelmed, alcohol-ridden mind was that it reminded him of that book from his childhood (one of the few that weren't about physics or engineering, anyway): "Where's Waldo?"

Although the comparison made the corners of his mouth twitch up for a moment (Where's Loki?), he stopped and re-read the line of text. (_... so, find me once more._) Then he looked back at the other picture, at Loki's easily visible face. Maybe "Where's Loki" wasn't so far from the point of this challenge.

_Sir, Ms. Potts is beginning to lose her patience._

"I'm coming, JARVIS, just give me one more minute."

Tony was on the verge of closing the book and returning with a magnifying glass after the conference when it grew suddenly cold in his hands, as though someone had dropped it into liquid nitrogen without Tony's permission. He dropped it with a strangled shout, and it landed without a sound on the thick carpeting. Tony bent to collect it, noticing that it had fallen open to the Player Correspondence section. It had been wiped clean except for two lines.

The first said:

**_It is essential that you examine the Laws of Juncture on the thirteenth page of the Book of the Game._**

Tony frowned, wondering how many Rules and Laws there were in this irksome game. His thoughts were quickly stalled by the second line:

**_I look forward to your conference._**

It could mean anything, Tony told himself, cold sweat beginning to bead on the back of his neck. It could mean that he would watch it on TV or read all about it in the _Times_ or...

Tony flipped ahead with freshly-shaking fingers. He squinted at the picture.

Or it could mean that this drawing was of the first floor of Stark Tower.

Tony stared at the paper. It was painted as though the rest of the building had been lifted away like a doll's house. The dolls in this equation numbered in the low hundreds- each room seemed to be packed. He felt somehow transfixed by the detail and the vividness of the colors that somehow shone despite the dimness of his room. Tony traced the walls with one finger, nodding to himself ever-so-slightly as he confirmed that they matched the first floor of the Tower precisely. It even had a conference room with a speaker that he could _just_ make out as himself.

The conference. Loki would be at the conference, and he probably wasn't attending just to bring glad tidings.

But... that meant that Tony would have a chance to stop him, to corner him. A chance to force the truth about the game out of the devilish god.

A voice interrupted his increasingly hopeful thoughts.

_Sir, Ms. Potts-_

"JARVIS, just call Pepper's cell for me, please." Tony strained his eyes on the picture, but he knew that it would take more than a few seconds to find Loki this time. Plus, he had some Laws of Conjunction or something to read.

_Certainly, Sir._

After a few seconds, Pepper's voice came over the speaker, loud and irate. "Tony, what the hell are you trying to-"

"I need you to push the conference back an hour."

There was a pause. "_Excuse me?_ Do you honestly expect-?"

"Pepper, I'm being serious. I'll be down at one-fifteen."

Something in his voice must have given him away, because Pepper responded with "What's wrong? Are you okay up there?" He opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off. "Are your injuries bothering you? Do you need my help?"

"No, no. Don't come up. I just..." His eyes strayed to the intricately colored page. "I need more time. Can you do it?"

"I can try. Tony, are you sure you don't want-?"

"I'm fine, Potts. Don't worry." He ended the call and turned back to the book on the desk. "JARVIS, I'm going to need a magnifying glass. Wait, no- what am I thinking? Scratch that, I just need you to scan these pages-" Tony lifted the book face-up towards the ceiling, "-and project them against the wall, blown up to ten times their original size."

_Of course_. The lights in the room dimmed as the blue light of the scanner swept over the page once, twice... a third time, a fourth time-

_Sir, it would seem that the pages you are requesting me to scan are blank._

Tony jerked his arms down, fearing that Loki had wiped the book after giving a meager minute to look, but to his relief, the picture remained intact. He raised it once more. "Try it again."

JARVIS did._ I'm sorry, Sir. It appears that the images cannot be discerned by our scanners._

"Dammit. I'll be needing that magnifying glass after all, please."

* * *

It took Tony a full forty-two minutes to locate the familiar head of dark hair near the exit in the conference room (even though Tony had been_ sure_ that he had already checked there). He sat up straight, wincing as his back popped and snapped, and took a better look. Sure enough, Loki's face smirked up at the podium, green eyes narrowed. Tony pulled the glass away and looked at the picture. It was miraculous, really, how detailed it was.

During the search, Tony had discovered three men picking their noses, a wallaby chasing one of his secretaries (Tony's secretary, not the wallaby's), four stately flamingos waiting in line for a drinking fountain, the Hulk sitting on someone who looked an awful lot like Director Fury, and Natasha sunbathing half-naked in the front lobby (Tony was thoroughly distracted by this one for a while). And that was just the left half of the building. Tony decided that Loki had almost certainly used magic to create it.

_Sir, you have five more minutes before you promised Ms. Potts you would be ready to leave._

His head snapped up to the clock above the fireplace. It confirmed this. "I'll be ready, JARVIS, just give a yell one minute before hand."

_Certainly._

Tony's attention returned to the picture. He poised the magnifying glass over Loki's image, reassuring himself that the trickster hadn't tweaked the picture since he had last looked. Thankfully, he remained in place. Tony was about to lower the glass when he noticed something a centimeter or two above Loki's head. He squinted. An analog clock rested on the wall of the conference room, reading- Tony's face was almost touching the paper - two-ten.

Tony sat back, rubbing his eyes. Two-ten. If he was right, that meant that Loki would be in the conference room at two-ten, right in the middle of the conference, and Tony would be able to...

... to what?

Tony pushed the thoughts away (he would figure out something when the timing was right), turning instead to the correspondence page. He was forgetting something; scanning the black ink, Tony nodded to himself. The Laws of Juncture.

He flipped ahead, quickly finding the page with the Laws. They were written in more of the gold ink and flowing script that Tony was beginning to hate just a little bit (or a lot). For once, there was a brief introduction before the list:

**_The Laws of Juncture_**

_The Junctures themselves are defined as the annual meetings between the players of the Game to establish the rules of the coming Challenge. The period of time during a Juncture of the Game shall also be utilized for the bargain over the appeasement of the victor and the losses of the defeated of the prior Challenge. Under both formal and impromptu meetings, the following ordinances must be adhered to precisely in order to maintain the Spirit of the Game:_

Tony considered this. Annual meetings? Losses? He was regretting his agreement with every flowery word that he read.

_The First Law: As each Juncture of the Game is tantamount to a temporary truce, no player may intentionally inflict injury on another._

_The Second Law: In order to maintain balance and neutrality throughout the Juncture, all players must bestow and accept in equal measure, whether dealing in answers or offerings._

(Yeah, like Loki was going to buy him a present.)

_The Third Law: All guidelines specific to an individual Game or Challenge must be settled during a Juncture._

_The Fourth Law: All rewards and concessions of the victors and the defeated players, respectively, must be decided during the Juncture of the Game immediately following the challenge in question._

_The Fifth Law: All final decisions must be approved by the Master of the Game. In the absence of the Master of the Game, the players must reach a compromise._

_The Sixth Law: All formal Junctures of the Game will take place on an annual day. Informal meetings may be called by either player clasping his or her Gauntlet of the Game._

(Gauntlet? What, like some kind of gardening glove?)

_The Seventh Law: Any violation of the Laws of Juncture will result in the severest of penalties for the transgressor, to be decided by the opposing player. Transgressions by more than one player will be castigated appropriately by the Master of the-_

JARVIS' voice cut into Tony's concentration. _Sir? Regrettably, it is time to depart._

Tony's head jerked up once more to look at the clock. It was a quarter after one. "What happened to a warning?"

_I tried to alert you, Sir, but you were rather preoccupied at the time._

"Right. Shit..." Tony returned to the final line on the page-

_... castigated appropriately by the Master of the Game._

"And who the hell is _that?_" Tony grumbled.

_Sir..._

"I'm _coming,_ JARVIS!" He slammed the book and, after a moment's hesitation, stuck it under the mountain of ties in the topmost drawer of his dresser. He would have to think of a better place to put it if his team wasn't allowed to see it; despite the past few incident-free months, he didn't quite trust them enough to leave it sitting out on, say, his bedside table.

Tony left his room quickly, wondering what he would tell Pepper to explain his delay of the conference. Maybe he would be able to convince her that he had napped or gotten laid or something.

However, when the elevator doors opened onto the main floor, Tony didn't have much of a chance to explain anything before Pepper had grabbed him by his lapel and hauled him towards the front door, alternating between shouting at him about punctuality and asking him if he was okay. He barely had time to wave to Clint and Natasha (and the conspicuous stack of empty bottles beside them).

As it was, he found himself in the backseat of one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s vehicles (he really preferred his own- these felt too much like portable jail cells for his liking) speeding away from the Mansion with Pepper at his side.

He resisted the urge to cross his fingers for luck.

* * *

**Not too much of a cliffie, eh? It could be worse, as you well know... *winks***

**I'm addicted to your wonderful reviews- any and all feedback is appreciated. A big thank-you to everyone who has reviewed so far! You guys are awesome!**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello once more, lovelies!**

**I must say, I adore this chapter- It deals with some important stuff, and I finally got around to the _press conference!_ (*cheers*)**

**Disclaimer: not mine.**

**Warning: the usual.**

**OH! ***Important note***: In my version, Coulson didn't die. Loki stabbed him, but he survived. (Because this is _fanfiction_, dammit, and he's alive if I say so!)**

* * *

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you made me call Fury to push the conference back?" Pepper asked dryly, staring straight ahead as the car started forward.

"I... I had an idea for a new project. Something that might help us with our Loki problem." There- that wasn't _too_ much of a lie. Still, Pepper's gaze had that vaguely disbelieving tint as she glanced at him and then back to the front.

"You weren't trying to fix yourself up, were you?" Her voice held that combination of worry and irritation that Tony had grown familiar with while they were dating.

"No. There's really nothing that I can do to fix it." Tony stared out the window, his thoughts straying to the book. He had to figure out what to do once he got to the conference. Should he tell Fury? Was he even allowed to?

Pepper's sigh brought him back to the conversation. "Tony... I know things have been weird with us, but if something was really wrong, you would tell me, right?"

He turned to look at her, trying not to look (or feel) guilty. The two of them had broken up about five months after the original Loki Disaster, when Tony had been beaten to a pulp by Victor Von Doom on a random solo patrol. Tony had stumbled across the doctor, who had then literally ripped Tony's armor apart and bludgeoned him with it. When he had woken up from the tiny (two-week long) coma, Victor had escaped to Latveria and Pepper was at his bedside, begging him to stop being an Avenger. He'd said something along the lines of "hell no."

The next week had been full of shouting matches and pent-up emotions spilling out. The final straw was when Tony had washed down his painkillers with a few (nine) shots of Natasha's vodka. He didn't actually remember much of what had happened when Pepper had found him, but Clint later told him that Pepper had lost it, screaming that she was sick of him lying and drinking and endangering himself time and time again, and eventually, somewhere in her rant, she had broken off their relationship.

She had called the next day, after Tony had (mostly) sobered up, apologizing for losing her temper. She did, however, firmly (or shakily) state that she couldn't handle being with him anymore. She had remained his secretary, because they both knew that Stark Industries would collapse without her, but things had been rocky for a few months. And in times like these, when Tony lied and she knew it (and he knew that she knew it, and she probably knew that, too), he would flash back to the nights that he lied to protect her ("Thor's got my shift, I just need to rest," or "I'll try not to patrol alone, I promise."). He was pretty sure that she did, too.

And now the white book was waiting for him upstairs in his tie-drawer, and Loki was planning something for the conference, and his chest _hurt,_ an all he wanted to do was tell her the truth (for once).

But he lied anyway.

"Of course I would, Potts." He even added his sincerest smile to the end.

Her face was weary as she turned to look out her window. Tony braced himself for a lecture or (heaven forbid) tears, but her voice was businesslike and cool when she said, "I didn't get through to talk to Director Fury directly, but from what Phil told me, he wasn't happy about moving the conference back. I just hope you have the good sense to tell _him_ the truth."

"Eh. We'll see." Tony looked away from her, instead focusing on the people outside the window. He wondered if any of them thought he was a criminal. "Do you have any idea what my statement is going to be?"

"Phil said something about portraying the 'woman' as a minion of one of the local villains, or a rising villain, or something. I don't think Loki's in the statement at all."

Tony frowned out the window. "Not even a_ little?_ Why?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe he doesn't want people panicking. After all, it hasn't been_ that_ long since the chaos last spring, and if people think that Loki is out and about again..."

She trailed off, and Tony considered her words. It was true that when Loki had originally arrived in Central Park, Fury had done his damnedest to keep it hush-hush. Now that he thought about it, he didn't remember seeing any articles in the paper about it, nor any late-night news stories.

He opened his mouth, about to ask Pepper if she thought Fury was hiding something (for the eighteen-thousandth time), but quickly snapped his jaws shut as he remembered whose men were driving them to the conference.

Tony was sure that the ride's tense silence would have continued had it not been such a short ride to begin with. As it was, there was only a minute before they pulled to a stop in front of the (intensely reconstructed) Stark Tower. Tony was out in a flash, raising one hand to guard his face from the seeking lenses of the paparazzi's cameras. He had neglected to use anything on his face, medicine or makeup (although, thanks to the alcohol, the underlying aches of the bruises had dulled considerably).

He was surprised at the mob scene inside- it seemed that Loki's drawing had been accurate in more than just the mapping. He glanced around, half-hoping to see Natasha sunbathing by the doors, but to no avail.

"Come on, Tony," Pepper grabbed him by the arm and towed him though the masses. Most of them were too involved in a conversation to notice Tony in their midst, but he did get a couple handshakes and slaps on the back as he moved among them.

As soon as they made it to the prep room, Tony asked, "What's with the people out there?"

Pepper sent a look skyward (the one that said, _why me?_) before saying, "It was the Chairman's Brunch this morning. That's the after-party out there."

"That can't be right. I don't know a single one of those people." Tony batted away a pug-faced woman with a tube of flesh-colored paste, instead cracking the door and looking out. "Not a one. Oh, hey! It's Larry!" He waved.

"Stark, I will personally strangle you if you don't sit your ass down and let us get you ready for this conference."

Tony turned, considered making a joke about having Fury's hands wrapped around him, and decided against it. Instead, he sat on the stool in front of the makeup counter (deliberately facing the wrong way), wincing as the assistant immediately began smearing concealer onto the bruises harder than was necessary. "Good to see you, too," he muttered in Fury's general direction.

"Oh, my, I've forgotten my manners. How are you, Stark? Feeling better? Mostly sober? No? Well, nobody's perfect." Fury's tone was light and mocking, but his eye was steely. Tony glowered right back at him. "I really am curious, though, why you just _had_ to push the conference back. I'm sure there was a significant reason behind it." Fury sat on the arm of the leather couch and crossed his arms, waiting.

Tony fiddled with his cuff-link, trying to think. This was the time to tell Fury the truth, to tell him what he had done. To tell him that Loki would be dropping by to visit in less than thirty minutes.

He cleared his throat and opened his mouth to begin.

Only he couldn't force the words out. It wasn't magically-induced, this tongue-paralysis. He just couldn't make himself confess to signing away his soul.

It struck him then- that was precisely what he had done. Loki could call it a "Game" all he wanted, but this was something so much worse than that. Something so much _deeper_.

So he turned away from Fury's penetrating stare, ignoring the sound of protest from the makeup assistant, and instead looked at nothing in particular in the depths of the mirror. His black eye made him look almost as desolate as he felt. His voice was dull when he said, "I had some trouble finding a tie to go with this suit."

He could feel Fury's dissatisfied gaze on the back of his head- in fact, he could see it in the mirror, over his shoulder. Dissatisfied, and a little suspicious. Over his other shoulder, he could observe Pepper's furrowed brow (what lie had he told her?), and the thought of having an angel and a devil over each shoulder crossed his mind. (But that's not quite right- the real devil was going to appear in the conference room any minute now.)

"I see. Well, I certainly hope you're satisfied with your final choice." (Tony glanced at his tie in the mirror- it was a dark amber-ish color that Pepper had once said brought out his eyes.) "In the meantime, you can start going over your notes." The stack of index cards landed on the mirror table with a soft sound. Tony reached for them, taking off the paper clip that held them together. Instead of the bullet-points that Tony was used to, the entire card was filled with a neat, easily-deciphered handwriting. Flipping through the rest, he discovered that they were all similarly packed with words.

"Jeez, Nick, do you want me to be up there all night?"

"Shouldn't take longer than ten minutes or so, and you won't be accepting questions."

"Of course not," Tony muttered (the last thing S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted was to have him ad-libbing on live television). Ignoring whatever else Fury had to say, Tony focused on the cards in his hands:

_Good afternoon, everyone. It pains me greatly that we had to meet under such unfortunate and uncertain circumstances..._

Blah, blah, blah. Tony skimmed until he found something relevant:

_... truly distressing events yesterday involving my arrest. The woman that I assaulted is, in fact, working for HYDRA, a terrorist group that the Avengers have been fighting for decades. I was returning from an errand when I recognized her on the construction site, and noticed that she was taking notes on the blueprints for the new apartment complex. I suspected that she had a nefarious use for this information, and immediately attempted to apprehend her. Unfortunately, her identity as a HYDRA operative is new information. Because of this, the police officers mistook her for a victim rather than a criminal, and arrested me instead. I hold no grudge against NYPD, and will be pressing no charges. The Avengers are working harder than ever to uncover HYDRA's plans and whereabouts, and will continue to do so until they are no longer a threat. In the meantime, the charges against me have been dropped..._

"The charges were dropped?" Tony asked suddenly, interrupting whatever conversation Pepper and Fury were holding behind him. He could see the director's nod in the mirror.

"We pulled some strings. It wasn't that difficult after the initial buzz died down a bit. Without the victim's testimony, there wasn't much motive for you. Some people even thought that the way you were arrested on the spot was a little judgmental. The fact that the girl's face couldn't be matched with any person's profile on the western hemisphere helped, too."

"Hm." Tony returned to the note cards, but from then on it was mostly the legal gibberish that he hated. Still, he had to admit that it wasn't _too_ bad, though it didn't sound much like him. "Well, you'd better hope that HYDRA doesn't come after us for bad-mouthing them on television."

Fury shrugged. "If anything, prodding them like this will get them to tip their hand to let us know what they're planning next. They've been quiet for too long."

"How resourceful of you," Tony commented caustically (his head was beginning to ache, and he was feeling a little mean). He glanced around the room and opened his mouth.

"No."

Tony turned to look at Pepper. "What?"

She wasn't amused. "You can't have anything to drink. You're on the verge of slurring as it is."

Tony sulked, sinking down a bit in his seat. "I've done things _much_ worse than slurring on television."

"Yes. It's the 'worse' that we're trying to avoid. I'll get you some water."

Tony gave up, instead thinking about what he would do when he spotted Loki in the crowd.

Fifteen minutes later, he hadn't gotten much farther than "grab him," which was what he had started with. Still, he followed Pepper down the hall to the conference room without complaint or any attempt at stalling.

The room was packed with reporters who leaped up and began to yell at him the second he entered. The woman from Vanity Fair remained seated in the second row, smirking or glaring or both. Pepper quieted them and introduced Tony (though he really needed no introduction), stating that there would be no time for questions at the end of the conference. Then Tony was at the podium, listening to a hint of feedback in the microphone and watching numerous pens being placed on numerous pads of paper. His eyes trailed to the back of the room. It was a straight shot from where he stood to the door; an aisle sliced the pack of reporters cleanly in two. He pictured the image from the book, placing Loki's appearing point a bit to the right of the doors.

Then he realized that the reporters were all staring at him with mixed levels of expectancy and irritation (most of them _had_ been waiting more than an hour), and he cleared his throat to begin.

"Good afternoon, everyone. It pains me greatly that we had to meet under such unfortunate and uncertain circumstances, and I hope that I can clear up some of the confusion today..." Tony read the card as clearly as he could, but his mind raced with his heart. Every few seconds he would look to the doors, expecting to see Loki. He caught Pepper's eye once and nearly stumbled over his words; she wore a confused expression, not understanding why he was so distracted. He tried to be more present in his address, but he couldn't focus worth a damn on the press. His mouth read the words, his eyes searched for Loki.

"... I hold no grudge against the NYPD, and will be pressing no charges..."

The young man appeared in the blink of an eye. He wore a neat green jacket and had long, gold-ish hair pulled back from his face in a ponytail. His odd, rectangular spectacles made his green eyes look huge.

His luminescent green eyes.

_Loki!_

The second they made eye contact, the young man's lips quirked up at the corners, and he turned to leave.

Tony's heart stopped. He shoved the cards at Pepper with shaking hands and hissed "finish it!" before leaping down the steps and dashing after him. He ignored Pepper's surprised shout, keeping his eyes locked on the clover-green jacket that bobbed and weaved easily through the crushing mass of black suits. Tony had significantly more trouble with it.

"Move! Move, move, out of my way!"

He shoved and elbowed his way through, sending people stumbling to either side of him. "Stop! _Stop!_"

Obviously, Loki did no such thing. The trickster was almost to the hallway that lead to all of the first-floor offices, and Tony was a solid twenty feet behind him, still fighting the tide of businessmen. By the time Tony reached the edge, Loki's lead had grown to forty feet.

Tony kicked a flamingo out of his way and sped down the deserted hallway, keeping sight of the gold hair. He could've sworn he could hear Loki laughing.

The trickster made a sudden left, veering into the door that lead to an unused section of the basement. Tony swore internally and gritted his teeth, putting an extra burst of speed on to reach the door before Loki could close it. He burst through, accompanied by the spectacular _crash_ of the door hitting the wall.

And he fell.

The ground dropped from below his feet, and he went tumbling down the flight of stairs, each step feeling like a small anvil when he landed on it. Then his back hit the floor, chasing the wind from his lungs and sending stars into his eyes.

Stars and trickster gods.

The spectacles disintegrated as the long, golden hair fell from the ponytail and became longer and blacker. The green jacket also lengthened and darkened, morphing into the familiar dull-emerald and black leather ensemble, complete with usual the metallic lacework at his shoulders.

Loki smirked broadly above him.

"Welcome to the first Juncture of the Game, Tony Stark."

* * *

**WHOOO! Writing marathon! *takes a victory lap***

**Anyway. Reviews are my reason to live, and I always appreciate feedback of all sorts.**

**Thank you all for reading this- knowing that people enjoy my work is the best kind of gift I could ever receive.**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep**

**(P.S.: Tomorrow's chapter is my favorite one yet. No, seriously. You guys are going to _love it..._ *winks*)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Whew! This one's _long_. And _awesome._ *grins***

**I won't even hold you up with my mindless pre-chapter drivel: go forth and read!**

**(Disclaimer, not mine, yadda yadda. Also, swearing.)**

* * *

"Welcome to the first Juncture of the Game, Tony Stark."

Tony struggled to force air into his lungs, compelling himself to overcome the feeling of panic that was beginning to swallow him- the lack of air and the presence of an enemy was never a good combination. In fact (Tony's heart pounded faster than ever), Loki was probably going to impale him right then and there. He braced himself for a death blow from the grinning god.

It never came.

Instead, Tony slowly regained his breath on the floor of the dim, dusty basement, becoming aware of his injuries bit by bit. He was pretty sure that he had broken something; his chest seared with every breath, and his left shoulder was already stiffening ominously.

"Are you done being so... _mortal?_" Loki's amused disdain dripped onto Tony like syrup.

"Yeah, of course," Tony gasped, the bursts of pain making him grit his teeth as he struggled to sit up on his own. He flinched as two hands clasped his arms and helped to lift him. His feet scrabbled awkwardly on the ground as Loki half-dragged, half-carried him to a table set with two chairs and deposited him (not too gently, mind you) in the closest seat. Tony tried to take deep breaths and slow his heart. His arms felt odd where Loki had grabbed him, as though the god's hands still rested close to his skin. Only, they were folded neatly on the table across from him, pale in the light from the hanging lamp above them (the only one that was lit. Tony wondered absently if Loki had planned that, then dismissed the thought. Of course he had.)

"I must say, Man of Iron, you are not terribly talkative when you have forsaken your armor. Or is it simply my presence that is putting you off?"

Tony glared up at him. Loki was smiling slightly, not looking the least bit sorry for Tony's fall (not that Tony expected him to). "Just catching my breath."

"Ah, yes. Are you quite finished? We will not be left alone forever; your sudden departure guaranteed that." Loki's words were reinforced by the sound of footsteps echoing from the rooms above them.

"Yeah, fine." Tony sat back slowly, resisting the urge to test his ribs with his fingers. His gaze never wavered from Loki, but the god showed no sign of attacking, and he gradually began to relax (not _entirely_, but a little bit). "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like you to explain what the hell I've agreed to."

Loki tilted his head to one side in a comically innocent expression, dark hair spilling over one razor-like cheekbone. "You did not read the Rules of the Game? Or the Laws of Juncture?"

"I did. But let's face it, there were a_ lot_ of rules, and I'm not much of a follower to begin with." Tony felt his phone buzz in his pocket, but he ignored it.

Loki's eyes, a deep holly-leaf green in the dimness, pinned Tony into place for a moment before he let out a short, irked sigh. He made an obscure, complex motion with his hands and a broad, thin black book materialized in the air above the tabletop. Loki scattered the dust with a wave of his hand (Tony sneezed) before setting the book down carefully. Thin gold lettering in the center read _The Game_.

Tony blamed the remnants of the alcohol in his blood for making him blurt, "My book-?"

"Wrong. This is _my_ book. All players must be in possession of one." Loki opened it and flipped the pages daintily until he reached the one that, even from upside-down, Tony could recognize as the page of Laws. "This, Tony Stark," Loki gestured between them quickly, as though he was hurrying slightly, "is a Juncture. It is a truce of sorts in the Game, a time when players meet and discuss past and future challenges. We shall hold them weekly, as is customary."

Tony blinked. He hadn't quite expected Loki to be so forthcoming with information about this (although, Tony supposed that everything that the god had just said was in the book that Tony had skimmed). "What, so you're just going to pop into the Mansion every Sunday to talk about this game of yours?"

Loki raised an eyebrow and turned the book towards Tony, jabbing his finger at a place near the bottom of the page. "The Sixth Law. Read it."

Tony leaned forward, finding the Law in question. _"All formal Junctures of the Game will take place on an annual day. Informal meetings may be called by either player clasping his or her Gauntlet of the Game._" He looked up at the god. "A gauntlet? Like, some sort of weird glove?"

Loki reached into his coat (Tony did _not_ flinch, _thankyouverymuch_) and pulled out two dense-looking circlets of metal, each one about as broad as a clenched fist. "Lend me your hand."

Tony yanked his arms out of Loki's reach. "Hell no!"

One thin black brow rose. "Very well. Which of your teammates would you like me to slaughter first? I believe I owe our time-lost Captain a visit."

The hair on Tony's neck and arms stood up, responding to the ice and danger that laced Loki's tone. "But you can't- you swore-"

"The Game has many rules, Man of Iron, as you accurately stated. By breaking even one of them, you restore my right to slay your fellows." Loki's face was cool and calm and, underneath his controlled shell, just a little bit anticipatory. This was his game: he was enjoying watching Tony dance.

Tony swallowed. "They can fight. We beat you once." He was vaguely aware that he was instigating the same argument that he had undertaken internally when he had been presented with the book.

Loki tilted his head again, a predatory gleam in his eyes. Tony had the horrible feeling that the god could see into Tony's head. "That was then. I have considerably less to lose now. Even if I did not, your precious allies could not hope to defeat me by themselves. They would never anticipate the attack." Loki's voice had a subtle melody to it, and Tony found himself transfixed by the rise and fall of the terrible words. "Have you not already considered this?"

Tony gritted his teeth and offered his wrist rather than answering the question (what else was he supposed to do?). He felt exposed as Loki's sly smile curled around his face.

He wasted no time in selecting the paler of the two cuffs and bending it at a hidden seam, enclosing Tony's wrist before he could second-guess himself. The circlet was cool against Tony's skin and showed no signs of beginning to warm up after being pressed against his wrist. He didn't dwell on it, though- he was more concerned by Loki's hands grazing his skin as the Asgardian smoothed hidden imperfections from the surface of the bracelet. As Loki pulled his hands away, Tony noticed rows of tiny runes etched into the metal's surface. Each one was delicate and precise, formed with a grace that somehow reminded Tony of flower petals. He moved to touch them, only to find his hand snatched away.

"Hey!" Tony struggled to detach himself from Loki's grip, but the god's hold was brutal, and Tony's injured shoulder was about as strong as a handful of fresh spaghetti noodles.

"So curious, you humans," Loki muttered. Tony noticed that the darker cuff was around the other man's wrist, just above the sleeve of the leather coat. "Always with the need to prod unnecessarily."

"Whatever, won't happen again, just-" Tony pulled against the grip. "-just _let go_."

To Tony's surprise, he did. Tony sat back in his chair, wishing that hr had thought to stash his armor nearby. Alone, in Loki's company, he felt very exposed.

Loki moved on, paying no mind to Tony's hostile glare. "The Gauntlet of the Game is both a weapon and a means of summoning another player. No matter where you are to begin with, once I grasp the Gauntlet with my palm touching this rune-," he pointed first to a row of squiggly markings on his Gauntlet, then to a matching set on Tony's. "-you will be transported to my side. Yours, of course, has the same ability. Also, if I were you, I would not let my brother see it, as he would recognize it immediately for what it truly is." Loki's tone went dark for a moment and his smile turned knife-like as he mentioned Thor. Tony withheld a shiver.

A flurry of footsteps and shouts filtered through the ceiling, and Tony's phone buzzed again. Loki leaned back in his chair, looking upwards with an amused expression. "They've scattered like blind rats, looking for you. If you intend to keep this arrangement a secret, I recommend that we continue."

"Waiting on you." Tony thought that his snide attitude might make Loki irritated enough to do... something (violent, probably), but he only bared that grin once more.

"Naturally. The Gauntlet's use as a weapon can be explained later, but the rest of the Laws cannot be set aside. I will only ask this once: what will you have me explain to you?"

Tony stared. Loki stared back, looking unruffled by the intense confusion that Tony was evincing (What? This_ really_ wasn't what he'd been expecting! Threats and vague promises of world domination, yes, but _explanations?_).

Then Tony understood. This wasn't nine months ago, when Loki was under major pressure to get the Tesseract and beat every Avenger on his own. This was now, when Loki had maneuvered Tony into a game, a sneaky game, and games were what Loki loved. He was on home turf, holding all the cards in one hand and Tony's marionette strings in the other, and he was having _fun_. It would be easy to let Tony fail, but this was Loki, who loved the chase as much as the kill; it wouldn't be as enjoyable if Tony was an easy opponent to beat (hence the explanation). And besides, being in their comfort zone will make anyone a little more willing and patient.

"We do not have unlimited time, Man of Iron."

(Well, patient to a point, anyway.)

"Um. Well..." Tony cleared his throat and peered at the book. "The first Law is pretty clear, no hurting one another... the second one is kind of odd. Is it a sort of 'eye for an eye' principle?"

Loki raised his eyebrows. "I don't believe that the exchange of eyes is mentioned in any Law."

Tony snorted despite himself. "It's a saying. What I'm asking is, if I gave you a watch, you would have to give me a watch in return?"

"It is not so literally interpreted. A gift for a gift, a question for a question, an answer for an answer." Loki paused, a bemused expression crossing his face (it lent the god an unfamiliar, kinder demeanor). "In which case, I suppose 'an eye for an eye' is an appropriate means of explanation."

"You learn something new every day. Okay, Law three. Guidelines: do we have guidelines to settle?"

"Not for the upcoming Challenge." There were more yells above them. "Do hasten, Man of-"

Tony lifted his non-gauntlet hand to stop him. "Okay, would you stop with the 'Man of Iron' thing? And for Pete's sake, don't call me Mr. Stark, I hate that almost more than I hate Man of Iron. And 'Tony Stark' is just plain overkill."

Loki looked perplexed. "Then what shall I call you? And who is Pete?"

"Pete? Never mind about Pete. You can call me Stark, or just Tony. Or, you know, you can call me jackass like Natasha does sometimes..."

There was an echoing shout from above (Tony was sure he recognized Fury's dulcet tones even through the layers of concrete) and Loki opened his mouth. Tony cut him off.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going. Four- the gains and losses. What does-?"

Loki interrupted. "It is the foremost Law of the Game, the whole motivation for one to engage in the competition. During a Juncture at the end of a Challenge, the Challenge's winner will state the prize that he desires, and it shall be the job of the defeated to attain it and present it to the victor."

Tony frowned, trying to think. "So you're only doing this because there are things that you want?"

Loki laughed, surprising Tony. It was a softer laugh than he was used to hearing from the god- he had come to expect the cackle of a nearly-won battle or the chuckle of a plot well executed. "You cannot fathom my reasoning, and I advise that you do not try." He leaned forward slightly. "I will tell you this: there shall always be items that I desire, and there shall always be interesting gambits and stratagems that I wish to try. This Game combines the two. And what that means, Stark, is that I shall never be bored so long as the game continues." Loki sat back again, and Tony blinked- he had been falling into a bit of a trance again, listening to Loki speak (no wonder Thor sometimes called him "Silvertongue"). "You cannot pretend that there is nothing you desire. I vowed to contend fairly, and I shall." That devious smile played at the edges of Loki's mouth. "You may surprise yourself at what you might accomplish and what you might receive."

Tony's shiver caught him by surprise (and hurt more than he would have expected- he really needed to ice his damn shoulder), and he returned his attention to the book. Loki's smug satisfaction at having displaced Tony's calm exterior rested softly but persistently on Tony's shoulders like sunbeams. "Rule five-"

"_Law_ five."

"Right, whatever. The Fifth Law- ah, yes. Who the hell is the Master of the Game? It says that we can't do shit without him..."

Tony trailed off at the look Loki was giving him. It was one of those scornful, haughty, I-can't-believe-you're-actually-this-stupid looks that he occasionally received from supervillains. He had to admit, Loki's was the best he had seen: wholly withering, with a hint of exasperated amusement. But why was he-

"Oh. Oh, you've got to be fucking_ kidding me-!_"

Loki shrugged innocently, green eyes sparkling. "It is no matter, I assure you. I vowed to play fairly, did I not?"

"But... but the Master of the Game deals in_ final decisions_, and- and- _castigation_, and-"

"Do not let it worry you, Tony Stark."

"Don't let it-? Are you _kidding?_" Tony was sure that he would be laughing or crying in a few moments (he assigned equal blame to Loki and sleep-deprivation).

"Who else would it be? The Master of the Game must be a seasoned player, fluent in every conceivable Rule." Loki's face was deceptively earnest, pale lips quirked up at the corners. "In fact, I have been acting as Master of the Game since we began today's Juncture. Otherwise, every inquiry you have made would allow me to force an answer out of you in return. The Second Law, Tony Stark, requires balance. Or have you forgotten so readily?"

Tony rubbed his eyes, wincing as his fingers met the bruise on his left eye. Knowing that he had come so close to losing already made his head spin and his stomach lurch (or maybe that was the alcohol). But it made no sense. "Why? You could easily take advantage of that, use it against me, and you know it. So why didn't you?"

Loki's gaze was sharp, locked onto Tony's eyes. After a moment, Tony realized he had wiped off a good deal of the makeup by accident; he almost said something, but Loki beat him to it. "Must I say it once more?_ I vowed to be fair._ I want to win, yes, but I have been so_ bored _of late. Letting you flounder about, making blunders at every turn, would be entertaining for a week or so. But I have aimed for something _more._ Something that will challenge us both." Loki's eyes were wide, and for a moment, Tony could see the excitement within, see the daring, the _life_ that radiated from the trickster. He was suddenly struck by the vitality that the god emitted: dressed in the black and green that suited him so well, emerald eyes flashing with unspoken knowledge, lips parted slightly in the aftermath of his words.

Tony nodded slowly, disengaging himself from Loki's intensity and looking down. "I... I understand." He almost returned to the book, but stopped and made himself look up once more. "How will I know when you're a player or a master?"

Loki shrugged a little, the manic gleam lingering in his eyes. "You might find yourself able to perceive a difference. You might not."

Ah, there was the old Loki. Tony snorted slightly to himself and glanced down at the book. "Sixth law... that's the gauntlet and the meetings. Where do we go for the Junctures?"

"There is no single location. As long as you and I are in the same room on a Sunday, the Juncture is taking place." Loki sat back, losing his aura of wild energy (for the most part, anyway).

"Gotcha." Tony's eyes roved the page. "And lastly, number seven... okay, so basically 'follow the rules or else'?"

"Laws."

"Yeah, Laws, whatever."

Loki nodded once. "If you break a Law, I may choose to punish you as I see fit or ask for some form of penance similar You would have the same responsibility should I deviate from the Laws." (Loki's tone told Tony that he was _truly_ unconcerned about this occurring. Tony wasn't too optimistic, either.)

"Right. And if both of us break the rules? It says that the Master of the-,"

"Yes, the Master of the Game would decide the punishment. Should we both break the Laws, I will manage it as I see fit, though I doubt that we will find ourselves to be... how is it you Midgardians say it...? 'Partners in crime'." Loki smiled as though appreciating an inside joke.

"I see. Well," Tony slammed the book, and Loki winced. "That's that. I don't suppose you tell me your evil plan now?"

Loki offered only a seraphic smile (_A__n evil plan? Me? Never..._), and Tony sighed. "Didn't think so."

"There are no specific guidelines to arrange for the coming Challenge, and-" Someone shouted something from outside the door to the basement. Loki glanced up, unfazed, before returning his attention to Tony. "-I believe that we may part if you have no other questions."

He considered. "Just one- have you ever read 'Where's Waldo?'"

Loki tipped his head to one side. It was an odd little motion that Tony would have normally found endearing (But this was_ Loki,_ so...). "I have not. Of what significance is this 'Waldo'?"

"Nothing- you two just have a few things in common, is all." Tony did his best to hide his smile at Loki's puzzled face. He did the same thing to Thor sometimes; it never got old (though Tony was sure that Loki would kill him, game or no game, if Tony ever compared the brothers aloud).

"I see." Outside, the yelling grew louder, and Tony thought he could hear someone trying the doorknob. "Before we are interrupted, Tony Stark-"

"Just Tony. Or just Stark."

"-I would like to aid you in a small way."

Tony yelped as Loki darted forward, faster than a snake, and pressed his hands to Tony's face. He didn't know whether the god was going to snap his neck or kiss him, but he couldn't wrench his head out of the iron-like grip. The hands were cool against his skin- they might even be soothing if they weren't Loki's. He stared helplessly into the trickster's face, which was set in concentration, green eyes fierce. Out of the corners of his eyes, Tony could see flares of green erupt from the hands plastered to his skin, and tingles that reminded him of electrocution rippled outward from them. They washed over him in waves that left him feeling hot and cold and exposed and secure all at once. He was reeling when Loki removed his hands, and there was a ringing in his ears.

"Wh-what the fuck-?"

Loki, taking advantage of Tony's shock, grasped the billionaire's chin and angled his face up, towards the meager light of the hanging lamp. "Much better."

Tony regained his senses and pushed himself backwards, nearly toppling out of his chair. Across the table, Loki straightened, looking unconcerned about Tony's imminent cardiac arrest. "_What did you do?_" Tony's voice shook as his own hands flew to his face, and he touched his cheeks and brow, feeling for damage under Loki's watchful gaze. It took about ten seconds of this for Tony to realize that there was no pain from the prodding, no angry, resonating pulses from the bruises that he had been given. His hands flew to his chest, with similar results. Loki began to move around the table towards him, and the movement startled Tony out of his stunned stupor.

"You _healed_ me!"

"Yes." Loki looked amused at Tony's display as he leaned against the nearest edge of the table.

"_...why?_" Tony's heart was racing for the hundredth time that day, and he tried to calm himself.

Loki shrugged, a small smile on his face. The light hit him from behind, and his eyes were shadowed. "It was my doing. Well, the toilers were, anyway. You've no one but yourself to blame for the incident with the stairs..."

It took Tony a minute to work his way through "toilers". "The construction workers? What do you mean, your doing?"

Loki's smile grew an increment. "I may have given them a bit of... mental encouragement."

"Mental-?" Tony got it. "You manipulated them into attacking me?"

"Not entirely. I was fairly sure that their instincts would force them to stop you, but I required a definite means of escape and thought it would be worth giving them a little... push." Tony didn't think he sounded nearly sorry enough (or at all, honestly).

"What, so you decided to make up for it by healing me now?" Tony couldn't wrap his mind around it.

"Precisely." There was a terrific banging on the door, and Loki straightened. "It would seem that our time has run out... _Tony_. You know how to contact me." He turned to collect the black book that remained on the table.

Tony's mind struggled to function, to overcome the lingering feeling of magic that set his teeth on edge, and he thought hard. Something was off about this. Loki would gloat about influencing the construction workers, sure, but making up for it? _Healing_ Tony? Letting them start out on (sort of) equal footing?

Loki was already beginning to give off that green, pre-teleporting mist when Tony realized it. "_Wait!_"

Loki stopped. "Yes?"

He turned slowly, book in hand, and Tony swallowed, praying he was right. "This is the Second Law, isn't it? You gave me a gift, and you'll have leverage over me if I don't give you something in return."

Loki was still for a moment, the light from above making his cheekbones look sharper than glass. Then he tossed his head back and laughed. When he met Tony's gaze again, his face held more delight than disappointment. "I chose my opponent well. Yes, this is the Second Law."

Tony felt weak-kneed at the near-miss. "Ah. Right. Right, I need to... to give you something..." Tony looked down at himself, patting his pockets desperately (of all the days to forget to wear a watch...). Eventually, he disengaged one of his cuff-links and offered it to the trickster, who stepped forward after a momentary pause.

The cool fingers brushed Tony's palm, the unnatural silkiness leaving behind a shiver that Tony couldn't quite stifle. It didn't help that Loki didn't step back, instead remaining close as he examined the silver link.

"AES. What does it mean?"

Tony had forgotten that they were engraved (he rarely had time to consciously pick a design). "Anthony Edward Stark. My name." Then he felt a surge of panic- couldn't magicians do anything to you if they knew your name?

Loki noticed the look on Tony's face and smirked, interpreting it perfectly. "Worry not. I possessed the ability to turn you into something small and slimy prior to learning your birth name."

Tony barked a surprised laugh at the unexpected deadpan. "It's a valid concern."

Loki's shoulders trembled in a moment of silent laughter. "Perhaps." His eyes were sparkling when they met Tony's (was it laughter or danger in their depths?), and while Tony was no stranger to proximity, he suddenly wished that there was a yard or so of additional space between them.

A loud BANG from the door reminded them of the time constraint, and Loki vanished without another word. Tony supposed that he wasn't one for long goodbyes.

Then the door burst open, striking the wall soundly as Fury barreled into the basement with a personal battering ram in his hands and a team of S.H.E.I.L.D. agents behind him, the combined shouts colliding and turning to jibber-jabber in the air as they brandished their guns.

Tony raised his hands meekly.

* * *

**Oh, _so _much fun! *dances***

**I hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you think I got Loki wrong somewhere (or everywhere), be sure to let me know. He's difficult (but fun!) to write.**

**Next chapter in a day or so!**

**Cheers!**

**BlackSheep**


	9. Chapter 9

**AARRG, this chapter was too fucking _long_, and I had to cut it _again!_ *repeatedly facepalms* AND, there's angst. How the hell did that happen?**

**Anyway, a lot of it might seem kind of sudden, but keep in mind- this is the same day that Loki impersonated Thor. I know, it's been, like, ten thousand word since that happened, but it's the same day. Plus, Tony hasn't been dealing with this properly.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Warning: This chapter is _soaked_ in alcohol. Like, start to finish. (And, of course, swearing)**

* * *

On the television screen, the commercial ended just in time for the show to catch Pepper's introduction. It was easy to notice the circles beneath her eyes despite the makeup she wore, but she showed no other signs of fatigue as she crisply stated the basics ("Mr. Stark will _not_ be accepting questions," "Please, no flash photography," blah, blah...).

Tony winced when his image replaced Pepper's onscreen. Although the makeup artist had done her best, the swelling around his eye was rather telling, as was the band-aid on his chin. The uncomfortable pause before he began to speak wasn't as long as Tony had feared, but it was considerable.

Beside him, Fury spoke snidely. "Don't get me wrong, Stark, I love your cameo here, but let's skip ahead a bit to _my_ favorite part." The director lifted an arm and fast-forwarded. The silence in the Mansion's main room was intolerable.

After Loki had vanished and Fury had told his men to stand ("the hell") down, Tony had been left in the awkward position of not having jack-shit to explain his disappearing act. Thankfully, Pepper had swooped in and interrupted Fury's screaming fit, asking if the middle of Stark Tower's lobby was the _best_ place for that conversation. At that, Fury had marched into his S.H.I.E.L.D. van and headed to the Mansion. Tony had gotten into his own car (thankfully) with an incensed Pepper, who proceeded to freeze him out for the entire ride back (Tony would get the angry shouting later, after she thawed).

By the time they had arrived, Natasha and Clint were _very_ drunk, Captain America was _very_ upset (but not as upset as Fury), and Thor was still very much a brooding, sulking god that no one'd had the guts to approach yet. Fury had rounded them up (except for said sulky god, who refused to answer when called) and made them cram together onto the couch to watch the conference on TVO.

"_Here_ we are." Fury said, setting down the remote on the coffee table and sitting back beside Tony. The nearness was making Tony twitchy, and he surreptitiously slid a couple inches away.

On the screen, Tony's speech stumbled to a halt as he caught sight of something (some_one_) off camera. A moment later, the camera panned over slightly to keep him in the frame as he whipped around and forced his note cards on an unsuspecting Pepper, who let out a startled cry as he went flying down from the podium. From there, the camera followed him as he bolted down the aisle and out the doors.

Tony winced again as the camera returned to the podium where Pepper stood, looking mortified and holding the jumbled cards in a lose, disbelieving grip. After a moment she saw the camera and flushed deeply (in real-time, she had her face in her hands on the Captain's left. He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.) before looking to the cards and reading quickly in an unsteady voice. (It was the wrong card, but nobody in the living room said anything.)

Fury paused it mercifully. Or so it seemed: "Once more, just for kicks?"

Tony didn't dare to protest as Fury rewound it and played Tony's exit once, twice more. (Tony thought he would have replayed it another time, had Pepper not been on the verge of tears.) Finally, he clicked the TV off and stood so that Tony would get the full effect of his glare.

"Mind telling me what was so pressing, Stark?" There was a burning anger in his eye, as though Tony had finally exhausted the man's reserves of patience (not that there was much to begin with, but still. Terrifying.)

Tony gulped, wishing he was somewhere, anywhere else than right here. "Well. I thought I saw Loki."

Fury raised an eyebrow. "Oh _really?_ Loki? And you didn't alert any of the_ ten_ S.H.I.E.L.D. agents that were in the room with you?"

Tony smiled weakly. "That many, huh?"

The director smiled sarcastically in return. "Yes, Stark. _That_ many."

"Huh. Well, I just went with my gut, you know?" Natasha was looking at him askance (and slightly cross-eyed; he wondered just how much she'd had to drink), and Tony suspected that Clint would be as well had he not passed out in next to Pepper on the end of the couch.

"Your gut told you to lock yourself in Basement Six of Stark Tower? Of course. I understand." Fury's stare was boring into Tony's skull. "Or did Loki actually show up?"

"No, I was... I was mistaken." Tony swallowed his smarting pride as Steve looked at him with a mix of disgust and pity. The Boy Scout probably thought that Tony was hallucinating or seeking attention or both.

"Hmph. Mistaken? I'd say so." Fury was poised to continue his interrogation when there was a low buzzing sound that reverberated through the cavernous room. Tony patted his pockets, but his own phone was still. Instead, Fury pulled out a non-Stark phone and answered, turning away slightly from the group on the couch. "Director Fury."

There was a lengthy pause. Tony strained, but he couldn't make out a voice on the other end.

"I see. I'm on my way." To Tony's surprise, Fury turned and started towards the entrance hallway. "Get some sleep, Stark. S.H.I.E.L.D. will handle the aftermath of the press conference on its own this time. Just stay off the streets until things calm down. And," Fury's voice darkened into a threat, "if you stick so much as a _toenail_ out of line in the next two weeks, I will rip out your arc reactor and put it on top of my tree at Christmas time. That's a promise." With that, he headed down the hall towards the front door.

After a moment of utter befuddlement, Tony stood and shouted after him, "What, that's it? No Spanish Inquisition? No third degree?"

"Somebody shove a sock down his throat. That ought to shut him up," the director called gruffly.

Tony didn't really know what to do with that.

The low buzzing sounded again as Fury's footsteps faded, and the Avengers could hear him answer the phone ("I'm on my _way_, dammit!") before the door slammed shut behind him.

Brow furrowed, Steve turned towards Tony as he sat down. "Did you really think you had seen Loki?"

"No, I thought I saw the Pillsbury Doughboy" Tony leaned forward to snag a bottle of scotch from the coffee table, trying to figure out why Fury had let him off the hook with barely a slap on the wrist. "Yeah, Cap, I thought it was Loki. It wasn't. Can we move on?"

"No, we can't." Roders made a grab for the bottle, and Tony jerked it away before standing and retreating to one of the corduroy armchairs to drink in peace. "For the love of God, Tony, you have a _problem_. I don't know whether you thought you saw Loki because of the alcohol, or because you haven't been sleeping, or-"

"Who says I haven't been sleeping?" Tony interrupted, taking a swig of Scotch that made his throat burn in a lovely way.

"Your room is right above mine. I can hear you pacing, or talking to JARVIS, or going to your workroom at two in the morning."

Tony stared. "Well, that's not creepy in the slightest." He drank again, sinking into the familiar ebb and flow of the alcoholic calm that usually preceded a night of raging drunken escapades. He glanced at the clock. Three-thirty wasn't too early to start, right?

Back on the couch, Steve's nostrils flared. "Tony, are you _listening?_ You're slipping, and you need to get a grip. Talk to somebody. Me, Natasha, Clint-" Steve glanced at the archer, who was drooling onto the arm of the couch. "Well, not Clint. Look, my point is-"

"I think I already know your point, Flag-boy, and I really don't care. I've got it under control, okay? Don't worry your pretty little head about it." Tony cradled the bottle to his chest protectively, glaring for all he was worth.

"Don't talk down to me, you-" The Captain stopped himself, and Tony could see him trying to rein in his temper. "Please, Tony, just stop drinking and _listen_..."

"Oh, yeah, because those are the two things he's best at," Natasha muttered. Tony suspected that she was just peeved that he'd taken the scotch out of he reach.

"Not helping, Natasha." Steve turned back to Tony, only to find that the billionaire was standing and making his way (only a bit unsteadily) to the elevators. "Hey- we're not done here!"

"I have things to do, grandpa."

"Like _what?_ Getting drunk for the second time today?"

The rage came out of left field, swamping Tony with white-hot ire that swelled inside him before overflowing.

He whirled around to face Steve and screamed."Oh, I don't know, like TRYING TO FIGURE OUT A WAY TO KEEP LOKI FROM_ KILLING US IN OUR BEDS?_"

Clint bolted awake in a frenzy and fired an arrow at the fireplace. It lodged between two of the old bricks with a crack. He looked around wildly. "_Whazgoinon?"_

Everyone else seemed torn between staring at Clint and staring at Tony. Most ended up with the latter. Steve's face was pale and strained, and held echo of the fear from Loki's appearance among them that morning. Pepper's eyes were wide, and she had one hand over her mouth as though she was trying not to cry. Natasha stared levelly at Tony, but he thought he could see a question in her gaze, a hint of _is he balanced or isn't he?_ Clint just looked confused.

Tony felt flushed and angry and hurt and exposed and _alone_ (He should have known better than to think they would understand, that they would let him be). His heavy breathing was overly loud in the silence, and after a moment of avoiding eye contact with anyone, he headed for elevator and punched the up button a few times.

"Tony..."

He didn't stop for Pepper's shocked whisper, instead taking refuge in the elevator the second the doors opened. Just before they slid shut again, he heard Clint say, "...the hell did I miss, 'Tasha?"

He leaned against the wall, eyes closed, for the two seconds that it took for him to arrive on his floor.

_Sir..._

"Don't, JARVIS," Tony murmured, running a hand tiredly through his hair as he headed towards his room, taking a swig of scotch every few steps. The anger had vanished as quickly as it had risen, leaving Tony feeling drained and weary. Steve's pale face lingered in his mind's eye (playing the Loki card had been mean enough, but Tony supposed that the volume hadn't helped plea his case). The Captain hadn't deserved that, but Tony was feeling overwrought and overwhelmed and...

He brought the bottle to his lips, needing the extra courage to revisit the line of thinking that he was about to instigate.

...and he had made a deal with Loki.

A deal.

With _Loki._

Tony choked on a hiccuping laugh. He was the least intelligent person on the planet, thinking that he would get away with it, thinking that he would get out alive. He wasn't preventing his teammates' deaths; he was only postponing them until Loki grew tired of playing this infernal game with him.

_I vowed to play fairly,_ he'd said.

As if a vow meant anything to the God of Lies.

He suddenly blinked at he hallway around him. He had inexplicably made a wrong turn, ending up in Thor's half of the floor. Tony huffed to himself in irritation; either he was already _that_ drunk or _that_ emotional. And he didn't get emotional. (Well, except for five minutes ago, anyway.)

Instead of turning around, Tony swiveled to let his back hit one wall and slid down until he slipped the last few inches and landed on the carpeted hallway. He took an overzealous swig of alcohol, causing some to dribble down his chin. Tony knew that he should tell his team what he had done, but he couldn't fathom it.

Well... the opposite was true, actually. He could imagine it all too well:

Pepper's horror ("What were you _thinking_, Tony? Selling your life to that- that _madman?_"),

Clint's shock ("What do you mean, you made a deal with him? _Fuck_, Tony, that's... I mean, you can get out of it, right? It's not like he owns you or anything...?"),

Natasha's silent judgement (she would just stare at him with calculating eyes. Maybe she'd call him a jackass.),

Steve's verbal judgement ("What the hell were you trying to accomplish? This could have been used to our _advantage,_ but you _had _to be the tough guy, you _had_ to jump in before consulting us. For God's _sake_, Stark..."),

Thor's desperation ("Did my brother leave any message? Any sign? He is only misguided, Tony, I am sure he will release you from your agreement soon. I am sure..."),

and, of course, Fury's... fury ("Stark, you have _got_ to be stupidest genius I've ever met. What the hell is wrong with you?")

Everyone was already more than disappointed enough in him- why should he fuel the fire? Why should he welcome more consternation and condemnation with open arms after he tried to do the right thing?

At some point during his internal rant, Tony realized that his eyes had slipped closed. In fact, they didn't open when he told them to.

Odd. Tony thought back to the previous night- how much sleep had he gotten? He'd only managed to doze for an hour at the police station, and had gotten to the Mansion at three-thirty or so... probably hadn't gotten to sleep until after four, and JARVIS had woken him at, what, ten fifteen? Not to mention that the sleep he had gotten was riddled with dreams of voices. Six hours wasn't terrible (for some nights, when he was intensely ingrained in a project, it was downright fantastic), but when added to the stress of the past two days...

And they had been a pretty sucky two days. Tony did a quick recap inside his head:

That God-awful incident at the construction site.

The confrontation with Fury in the van.

Running into Thor/Loki _twice_ (which hadn't been so bad at the time, but looking back on it was downright _terrifying_).

Meeting with his team (sans Thor, plus Loki).

Dealing with the book (or signing his death warrant, either works).

The press conference disaster.

The civil discussion of the Game with Loki (Which might've actually been the best thing that happened in the two days, considering the fresh lack-of-bruises).

Getting yelled at a lot more.

Doing some yelling (for once).

Huh. When Tony looked at it that way, with a conversation with Loki being the highlight of his day, maybe he had an excuse to be a little emotional after all.

His eyes still refused to open, and after a while, he decided that he had, in fact, fallen asleep. Victor Von Doom, who was walking his three camels a little ways down the hall, agreed.

The rest of Tony's dreams were equally surreal and vivid. At one point, he apologized profusely to Steve, who then ripped off his own face to reveal Loki's grin and gleaming eyes.

The trickster vanished with a scream of laughter, only to be replaced by Victor Von Doom as Tony found himself in the months-old fight with the doctor (sans camels). Just like before, Doom's questing hands found each weak point in Tony's armor, tearing off chest and face panels and bashing Tony's head in with them.

But before Victor could deal the final blow, he vanished in a swarm of wasps that billowed and buzzed before collapsing into a tall, broad mirror. Tony's reflection was marred by ugly red scrapes and bruises until Loki appeared over his shoulder and pressed icy lips to his cheek, dispelling the marks and turning Tony's vision black and grey. In the brief sensation of nothingness, the cuff on his wrist weighed him down, anchoring him.

* * *

Fury had much better things to be doing. He could be tracking down that terrorist cell in Albania, or reading the HYDRA file a thousandth time, looking for clues. Hell, he could be kicking Tony Stark's drunk ass for deciding to play hooky in the middle of the press conference.

Instead, he found himself face-to-face with what had to be the most obnoxiously colored bird on the planet.

"Explain to me, Agent Hill," He growled as the irksome animal pecked at the glass between them with its bulbous black beak. "Why a goddamn _flamingo_ has taken precedence over all of our other projects and problems."

Behind him, Hill glanced at her clipboard. "It's strange, Sir. The animal somehow ended up in the lobby of Stark Tower, along with three others."

"And that means that they're our problem?" Fury straightened with a snort. "Call me once they turn out to be terrorists in disguise."

Hill stopped him with an upturned hand as he turned to go. "Sir. These have been confirmed as American Flamingos. They never get farther north than Florida on their own."

Fury glanced at the bird, which was doing a weird sort of snake-dance with its neck. "And how did they end up in New York? In _Stark Tower?_ What did the security footage show?"

"Nothing. There was empty space one second, and the next they were just... there."

Fury stared at her levelly before glancing down at the ostentatious bird. "Then I think we'd better take another look at that man Stark pursued into Basement Six."

* * *

**...Okay, if it's any consolation, I _really _didn't want to end like that for Tony. This is another butchered chapter, remember? *sulks* And like I said at the top, he was handling this too well. He needed an itty-bitty breakdown before he could move on and be productive.**

**If you see any especially prominent weirdness or other things throughout Tony's grousing, let me know and I'll try to explain it or fix it.**

**Next chapter _tomorrow!_ It's better than this one, I swear! *ducks projectiles and verbal abuse***

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Ah, this chapter is _good!_ Well, I think so, anyway... *****grins***

**Disclaimer: Not mine (but I have super-spies on my side, so I'll have the rights any day now... *smirks*)**

**Warning: more alcohol! Because it was supposed to be one majorly drunken chapter, and it turned into two. Heh. *shrugs* Also, swearing.**

* * *

Tony felt only marginally more rested when something very solid hit the wall behind him from the other side, forcing him into wakefulness more rapidly than he preferred. He stared around the empty hall for a moment before the sound repeated itself somewhere above his left ear.

Tony straightened against the wall, trying to regain his bearings.

_Thump!_

He ran a hand across his eyes and grappled for the quarter-bottle of scotch beside him (anything to wash the awful taste out of his mouth). Then it occurred to him. "Thor?"

The first attempt sounded more like "Thrrr?" and Tony coughed and downed more scotch. Somehow, it seemed to be clearing his head as well as his throat. "Thor?" He called more distinctly.

There was a long pause, and Tony had begun to wonder if he was even in Thor's section of he building after all (maybe he'd ended up on the third floor and was accidentally listening to Clint and Tasha having angry sex) when the wall behind Tony suddenly disappeared and he fell flat onto his back with a surprised grunt.

Thor's bloodshot eyes stared down at him blankly, reflecting the light from the hallway. It was the only source of illumination that Tony could see- Thor was wallowing in the darkness.

"Tony. I do not wish to have company."

Tony struggled to sit up. The walls took a minute to level out, and he wondered where he was on the Drunk Scale after the steady drinking of the past day. "Sorry, Thor." He glanced down at the floor, eyes widening at what he saw. "Jeez, were you throwing these?"

The ground near the door was littered with dense books, each bound by leather or some scaly hide. The pages within were nearly brown with age and looked softer than silk. Some of the books had fallen open or were propped up awkwardly on one another. Tony reached out and picked up an especially forlorn-looking tome with a chunk of badly bent pages. He smoothed them as best he could and peered at the inner text by the hall's light. It took a second for the wavering words to consolidate into rows of unreadable runes. He squinted- they looked a bit familiar.

"What of it?" Thor growled, turning away from the door and walking further into his quarters. Tony looked at the books around him- there had to be at least fifteen or twenty, each one more battered than the last. Throwing inanimate objects: never a good sign. Tony took a deep breath to sigh, only to choke on the reek of ale. He didn't even know where Thor would _get_ ale.

"Thor... are you sure you don't want someone to sit with you? I won't even talk, we can just... drink." Tony desperately wanted to go back to his own rooms, but he desired a distraction from his own predicament with equal fervor. And besides, if the big guy needed somebody to talk to, there wasn't exactly a line of willing volunteers.

Thor made a grunting sound that wasn't entirely a yes or a no. Tony puzzled over it for a moment before deciding that if Thor wanted him out, he would kick him out. He crawled back a bit and shut the door, leaving the pair of them in a darkened cavern. The ceilings were high and the walls were few, leaving behind the honest sensation of being in a cave full of couch-and-bookshelf-shaped shadows. He wasn't sure if they were in the center of the Mansion or not, but any windows were firmly covered to keep out the sun.

Tony fumbled in the gloom that surrounded the floor, picking up books and closing them properly as he found them. He did his best to smooth out any bent pages that he could feel. "Why'd you throw the books?"

The shadow that was Thor made a snuffling, snorting sound, and Tony heard something sloshing. Still, an answer slowly emerged. "They are possessions of Loki."

Tony nearly dropped the scaly volume whose pages he was flattening as though it was about to bite him. He maintained his grip on it but eyed it warily. "O-Oh?"

"I brought them with me from Asgard, as I did with most of his favored belongings. I know not why... perhaps I held the foolish hope that he would seek me out, that he would try to reclaim them..." There was a trembling, low sound that might've been a sob. "But he did no such thing. Now I have tried to study them, to find a means of revealing Loki as he truly is when he has taken another's form, but I cannot read the runes of magic."

Tony's adjusting eyes could make out Thor hunched in a chair, a vat-like mug in the hand that he wasn't using to cover his face as his shoulders shook. (And to think Tony had ever believed him to be a happy drunk.)

"Hey," Tony pushed the books safely off to one side of the door, where Thor couldn't abuse them again. "Being hopeful isn't the same as being foolish." (Although, taking Loki's stuff to get his attention wasn't the best of plans...) Thor didn't respond this time, only slurping his ale forlornly.

Tony pushed himself upright, only to stagger onto the other half of the couch that Thor occupied. His head spun, and he wished that he'd thought to bring the scotch with him from the door. Wait...

He bent himself in half, fumbling with his sock just above his shoe. When he returned to the upright position, his just-in-case flask was in his hand and a silly drunk grin was on his face. He turned to smile at Thor, but the god's head was bowed and his shoulders were hunched, reminding Tony of the situation. (What? He had a shitty attention span when he was drunk... and when he was sober, come to think of it...) He dropped the grin and un-stoppered the flask, taking a long pull from the celestial container before nudging Thor and offering it to him.

Thor accepted, tipping his head back and guzzling about a third of the liquid. When he resurfaced, he swayed a bit, even though he was sitting. He returned the flask and slumped in his seat, staring off into the darkened room. "Do you have brothers, Tony?"

Tony's head wobbled back and forth before he noticed that Thor wasn't looking at him. "Not a one."

"In past years, 'twas a wonderful gift." Thor mumbled, cradling his ale. "Always someone for company, for battle practice, for secret-telling. Did you know that Loki used to keep secrets?" Thor turned to Tony, whose head-shake was seen this time. "He would smile so brilliantly when I confided in him. It was always his counsel that I sought when I desired advice, even when we were mere boys." Thor's head tipped back against the arm of the couch, but no alcohol followed the motion. "Do you enjoy secrets, Tony?"

"Mm-hm."

"As do I. As did Loki- as _does_ Loki. He and I shared such wonderful secrets. Sometimes, he allowed me to aid him in his tricks and games, and we would laugh together for hours after... Even when he would trick me, we would laugh."

_Games?_ Tony's mind was sluggish, but he knew that was important somehow... _Ah!_ He remembered. (How on earth did he ever forget?) Tony looked sideways at Thor, trying to be sneaky about it (in his drunkenness, being sneaky seemed very important). The Asgardian was gulping ale again. "What'd you play?"

The large head rose. "What?"

Tony sipped from his flask. "What games. Red Rover? Candyland? I bet you played games with books. Loki loves books." Tony felt a stirring of pride at his subtlety.

Thor huffed, shifting on his side of the couch and nearly sloshing ale on himself (though Tony didn't think he could reek more than he already did). "The only game with a book is the Challenger's Game, the Challenge of Asgard. Loki and I played it thrice against other warriors of Asgard when we were barely men, and we triumphed each time." The pride in his voice was unmistakable. "Loki loved the Challenger's Game above all others."

Tony struggled to piece together bits of usable information amid the sentimental recollections. "You played together? Like a team or something?"

Thor's nostalgic grin glinted slightly in the darkness. "We were an unbeatable team. He would decipher each Challenge's clue in moments, and our battle strategy was superior to that of our opponents. Our victories were numerous, and our final triumphs were spoken of for weeks after the Game's end." Tony opened his mouth to ask a question, but Thor's tone suddenly turned dark, and he stayed silent. "Then we became men, and our father told us we were too old for such fun. Other warriors played it, old comrades looking for adventure, but we were not allowed. We had to... to..." Thor paused, searching for the proper words. "...to grow familiar with sacrificing our own pleasure for the burdens and responsibilities of ruling. Loki wanted to play it in secret, but I chose to do as our father commanded."

His head ducked again, but Tony's mind was too full of questions and drunken muddling to offer more comfort than his flask. Thor waved it away, knocking back more of his own ale. In the momentary silence, Tony's head buzzed.

The Game could be played in teams, but Loki chose to engage Tony alone (Tony's smile was dopey: he was _special._). It also sounded like there was a conceivable end to the game that didn't involve death (which was good, because- Tony hiccuped a bit - because dying was _bad_). After all, Thor had played it, and Thor's brutal streak wasn't _that_ prominent... But no death was a minor relief. And it was... not a kid's game, but something improper for grown royalty, at least. (Should he be writing this stuff down?)

And Loki was playing with Tony.

He shook his head slightly in bewilderment, a smile easing on to his face (Tony _loved_ games!) just before Thor began to speak again. "It reminded me so of the day he committed to the study of magic. Our father was beside himself with anger."

Tony must have made a questioning sound, because Thor turned to him slightly as he explained in slurred words and gestures that slopped ale everywhere. "Sorcery is the artistry of a woman, Tony. Though Loki had an unspeakably great affinity for it, it was expected that he would choose to study politics and battle strategy, the matters of men. But it was his decision, and he stood firmly against our father's wrath." Thor sighed heavily. Tony wondered how he could possibly be using such big words if he was so drunk. Maybe it was an Asgardian thing. "In the end, he conceded somewhat to our father's wishes and studied everything. His heart remained in the exploration of magic, and he spent much of his time learning runes and practicing spells, but he also undertook the traditional studies of men to please Odin." Thor shook his head in wonder. "And he still surpassed me."

Tony nodded to himself, trying to decide how to get the conversation back to the game. "Sounds like he was really busy. Like, no time for anything else. No time for games...?"

"Indeed, Tony. Before he began to concentrate on magic, he was a marvelous artist, and a wonderful dancer. But they were women's crafts as well, and our father never approved. The only talents of Loki's that father condoned were his skills with throwing knives, spears, swords. He had such tremendous talent, Tony, and yet father was only proud when Loki hit a target or defeated an opponent." Thor's face was shadowed and his voice was morose when he asked, "Why was he not proud of Loki's gifts?"

Tony swallowed. This story had taken a turn for the familiar (but at least Loki's dad was proud of him _sometimes_). "I don't know."

Thor's sigh sounded like it was ripped from him. "The answer eludes me, as well." There was a long pause, and then Thor's voice returned, terribly small. "Is it a fault of mine, Tony? Should I have stood at his side, against out father? Would he and I be on Asgard now, playing the Challenger's Game and competing together as brothers?"

"Oh, Thor... don't blame yourself. Loki's crazy, he-"

Thor surged forward and grappled with Tony's collar, pulling him close to Thor's face. "Loki's mind is _not_ addled!" He roared. Tony gagged on the reek of the ale. "He is _lonely_, Tony! He is_ suffering!_"

Tony struggled to pull himself back, away from the rage and spittle emanating from Thor. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean- Loki isn't crazy, he's just- _misguided_, did I say crazy? I meant _misguided!_ He just needs a hug!"

He went sprawling back on the couch as Thor let him go, suddenly docile. "Yes," Thor agreed mournfully. "He just needs a hug."

Tony sat up, clumsily swiping spit off of his face. His front felt wet as well, and when he looked down, he sluggishly realized that Thor had sloshed about a quarter of the remaining ale on Tony's suit.

"He is terribly sad, Tony," Thor rumbled, cuddling with his ale-bucket. "Father's deception changed him. I fear that he will lash out in another unforgivable way."

"Hey now, don't think like that. What happened to the hug theory?" Tony drained the last of his flask and let it fall on the cushion beside him. The shadows were needling the edges of his vision, roving like rats. He could usually drink twice this much before the alcohol began to effect him like this, but he'd been drinking all day, and he'd had- what, two bites of toast in the last twenty-four hours? Not bad at all for drinking on a mostly-empty stomach.

He sank back against the cushions and savored the lingering taste of the scotch for a moment before he spoke up again. "But Thor, seriously. I'm sure you were an awesome brother, and Loki's just dealing with his shit right now. He'll be back to his old self soon enough, I'm sure about it." (At least, he hoped so. For his own sake.) "And he'll be singing and dancing and drawing fruit bowls and all that, and he'll play this stupid game with _you,_ not me-"

A raucous snore interrupted what was meant to have been a mushy-gushy-supportive speech. Tony let his head flop towards Thor and found the Asgardian passed out on the couch beside him. "Wonderful."

Tony relaxed into the couch, staring up at the ceiling (Well, he couldn't actually _see_ the ceiling thanks to the bat-cave ambiance that Thor was aiming for, but he knew it was there). He was _tired._ The realization wasn't new, but it felt so true right then, as Tony's eyelids drooped. He was good at handling stress (_usually_, he thought, reminding himself inadvertently of his brief screaming fit downstairs), but afterwards, he really needed to drink a lot and sleep a lot to compensate for all of that adrenaline and wasted energy.

Phase one: complete. Initiating phase two...

Tony's eyes slipped shut, and he immediately dropped off to sleep.

* * *

**D'aww! Thor is so cute when he's drunk... *showers with love***

**Anyway, I want to take this opportunity to point out that this story has gotten an _insane_ number of reviews! WHOO! *twirls* You guys are the _best_. You cheer me up and cheer me on, and I am so lucky to have you all. Thank you all so much!**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hey, guys! Sorry I didn't warn you about the lack of chapter yesterday, but this one is SUPER long to make up for it. I would've been longer, but my dog died today, and I couldn't really make myself do anything more than edit. It's a good distraction, though, so I'll almost certainly post tomorrow.**

**Disclaimer: not mine**

**Warning: swearing.**

* * *

Tony had been woken up by cold water exactly three times in his life.

The first was the (only) summer that he spent at a camp for privileged young men while his father went on a tour to promote some new Stark-Tech. The older boys had decided that a hazing was in order, and Tony had been roused from a sound sleep when two of them dumped a bucket of icy pool water on his head. His subsequent reprogramming of every computer and television screen to read "**Jackson and Mark are Dirt-Sucking Nincompoops**" (He was _eight_, okay?) was what had led to his expulsion from the camp (a serious punishment, yes, but only because nobody could figure out how to fix said computers and televisions.)

The second time was when he had somehow ended up passed out in the entry hall of Buckingham Palace during a drunken romp (that, incidentally, began in L.A.). The guards were not amused that he had hacked their passcodes after ingesting nearly two bottles of whiskey on his own.

The third was when he had fallen asleep during a crucial Stark Industries board meeting that his father had allowed him to sit in on. The person throwing the water had, in fact, been Howard Stark.

This was the fourth time.

Tony jolted upright with a colorful swear, swiping at the water in his eyes and the light that seared his brain. Voices mingled together into a senseless roar (or was that an actual roar?) as Thor thrashed at his side. Tony's head gave an almighty throb, and he toppled forward onto the carpet and emptied the contents of his stomach onto what his blurry eyes identified as two very bare feet. Another shriek assaulted his ears, and Tony's eyes squished shut as though they could lock the sound outside of his head. The water's chill soaked through the suit and added to the post-vomiting shudders that emanated from his spine.

Eventually the cruel noise dulled slightly, and Tony managed to swallow the foul taste on his tongue and growl, "The lights, JARVIS. Turn off the fucking lights."

There was a burst of voices that brought tears to his eyes (so fucking_ loud_) before the red of his eyelids went black, and he eased open his stinging eyes.

Pepper was kneeling beside him, her face distraught. "I'm sorry, Tony-" (at least she had the good sense to whisper) "-I told him not to, but he wouldn't listen..."

"He threw up on my _feet!_" An angry voice caterwauled (at least, that's what it sounded like to Tony's abused ears).

The vicious throbbing in his skull persisted. "...Advil?"

Pepper fumbled with a bottle beside him, and he managed to choke two down without water (although they both stuck unpleasantly in his throat). He blinked heartily before sitting back on his haunches, head cradled gingerly in his hands, to do a quick count of the people he was going to kill. (No, seriously.)

Clint was peering around the door frame, looking contrite (as he _should_), and Natasha was leaning against the wall beside him, looking a little smug and a little bored (although Tony suspected/hoped that "bored" was a front for "massively hungover like Tony"). Each of them had dark circles under their eyes.

And there was Pepper, of course, at his side. She was looking properly apologetic as opposed to Captain Rogers, who was picking something from between his toes with a vigor rarely found in this day and age.

On the couch, Thor let out a groan that seemed to shake the floors, and Tony was torn between being selfishly glad that someone shared his pain and telling Thor to shut his inhuman trap.

"Why am I drenched?" The Asgardian rumbled. Tony winced.

"The Captain over here got his panties in a twist when you two didn't wake up right away. Thought he'd teach you a lesson," Clint was a wonderful whisperer. Tony never really appreciated that about him until right that second.

"Fuck you, grandpa," Tony grumbled, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Jeez. Okay, who wants to help me into the shower?"

Clint and Natasha chose that moment to bail, and Tony wished them all sorts of bad luck. Steve followed, muttering something about his feet before he slammed the door. Thor let out a pained roar, and Tony's stomach lurched again.

Pepper, lovely Pepper, was able to shove Thor's ale-trough under his nose before he puked again (though he suspected it was for her own benefit- she was rather close to the line of fire).

"Cover your ears, Tony," she whispered once he'd finished. He acquiesced, but her regular-volume words were still remarkably clear through his palms. "JARVIS, call the Captain back so he can help Thor."

Tony bravely uncapped his ears a bit to catch the response after a few moments.

_He is rather unwilling, Ms. Potts._

"Tell him to stop being a baby and that it's his fault to begin with." (_Must I use your exact words, Miss?_) Tony felt a surge of affection amid the nausea before she tried to make him stand up.

"No, no, don't want to... carry me?" He opened his arms beseechingly, but she didn't bat an eye.

"If you want my help, get off your ass."

Pepper deposited him in his shower a few minutes later (lights on the lowest setting, of course) and turned on the spray before leaving with "I'm not going to wash you off, so get moving." She did, however, fill a glass with tapwater and leave it just outside the shower stall. Tony downed it in one, cursing her and blessing her in the same breath. (Then he moved on to cursing the Captain.)

He stripped off his then-sodden (likely ruined) suit and kicked it into a corner of the shower stall. As he struggled to scrub the stench of the ale from his body, he marveled at the smooth, clean skin that was entirely without bruising after Loki's bizarre face-grabbing thing.

He held up his left wrist to examine in the dim glow of the arc reactor. The gauntlet was about four inches long, and it wrapped rather firmly (and conspicuously) around Tony's arm. The metal wasn't glowing green or sprouting spikes, but it was probably magical. (Most teleporting devices were, after all) Maybe Loki could even monitor him though it.

Tony put his mouth beside the cuff. "Oy, antler-brain. Do you copy?"

There was nothing but the sound of water hitting the floor and his skin for a while, and Tony jumped (and almost slipped) when JARVIS said, _Were you speaking to me, Sir?_

"No, no, not at all. Just testing a theory." Still, he treated the cuff with care during his showering/goatee-trimming/Advil-popping/coffee-brewing routine.

By the time he'd exited the bathroom, he was feeling quite a bit better. His headache had dulled, and his eyes weren't _quite_ so sensitive to the light. He was even a bit hungry. "JARVIS? Heat up the waffle iron for our hangover special. I have a feeling Thor'll want some, too, godlike metabolism be damned."

_Certainly, Sir. Additionally, you should be aware that there has been a significant decrease in temperature in the general vicinity of your dresser. The cause is unknown._

"Decrease in-?" Tony stopped, his hand hovering by the door's fingerprint pad, and turned to look at the dresser in question. With a jolt, he remembered the flash of cold that preceded Loki's entry in the Player Correspondence section. "When did it start?"

_It became tangible shortly before you were awakened, Sir._

"Gotcha." Tony yanked open the tie drawer and winced as he rifled through the frigid silks and cottons. "_Jeez,_ that's cold. JARVIS, what temperature is this?" As his fingers met the binding of the book, the blistering cold dissipated from the cover. Still, Tony's breath made a cloud in the air by the dresser before he stepped away.

_The coldest recorded temperature was negative twelve degrees Fahrenheit._

"Shit," Tony hissed in awe. He turned the book over in his hands- it didn't feel the least bit chilly anymore. "Well, let's see what's new, eh?"

_Shall I turn off the waffle iron, Sir?_

Tony bit his lip and looked at the clock, then back at the book (Waffles vs. Loki: a match to the death). "Yes... But turn it on again in thirteen minutes and get my attention after fifteen." _(Certainly, Sir._) He flipped quickly through the pages, looking for anything unfamiliar. It was easily spotted- there was a small cluster of new messages on the Correspondence section.

_**The second Challenge of the Game will take place at some point in the three days that follow this one.**_

_**Be prepared.**_

Well, that was handy. And still pretty vague. (And also kind of creepy... what was this, the Lion King?) Then, an inch below the first two, a third line read:

_**Enjoy the clues.**_

How nice. Clues. Tony flipped ahead in the book, but there was nothing but blank paper past the first few drawings. He returned to the Correspondence page, re-reading the lines. Something didn't quite sit right with him (more so than usual, anyway). It took him a minute for it to register.

He'd won the first challenge. He glared at the page, thinking. He'd _won_. The challenge had been to find Loki, and he'd found him.

Tony returned to the drawer, wincing at the cold as he rummaged around to find the pen that Loki had left him. He almost uncapped it with his teeth before deciding that, hey, this is a _god's_ pen. Who knows where it's been? Once opened, he wrote:

_**I won the last challenge, didn't I? Doesn't that mean I get something?**_

He stared at the page for a long minute. Then another long minute. Then-

"Screw this, I'm getting waffles."

Tony was just about to close the book when a sudden flash of black made him stop short.

**_Your point?_**

Tony pressed the pen to the paper eagerly.

**_That means you owe me something!_**

He sat back, feeling self-satisfied until Loki's reply appeared.

_**You woke me for this trifle? You truly are dense. In order to receive compensation of your choice, you must address your desires at the Juncture of the Games immediately following the Challenge in question. You did not, and therefore you forfeit your boon.**_

Tony gaped at the paper, dimly aware that JARVIS was saying something about the iron.

**_You tricked_**

He stopped short and cursed. Of _course_ Loki had tricked him. And now he couldn't even erase the angry, little-boy words that he'd scrawled hastily on the page. (Beside Loki's, his handwriting certainly _looked_ like a little boy's.)

**_I did. Are there any other insights that you wish to impart?_**

Tony snorted, and almost slammed the book before remembering.

_**Why does the book get cold?**_

A moment later:

**_It is a means of attaining your attention. Once I have entered a message into the Player Correspondence page, your Book of the Game becomes ever colder until you place your hand upon it._**

Oh. Tony thought about it and nodded vaguely to himself. On a whim, he wrote,

**_Does yours do the same thing?_**

The answer took a minute, and he could image Loki rolling his eyes at the page.

**_Quite the opposite. It becomes warmer. Now, if you have exhausted your supply of questions, I have important matters to attend to._**

**_Like what?_** Tony wrote hastily, but when a minute went by without a response, he knew that Loki was ignoring him.

He shut the book with a sigh, a pleased smile on his face. It slipped when he remembered that he'd been gypped out of a free prize, but he was still feeling pretty good. He'd gotten Loki to talk to him. That alone was miraculous, but Loki had actually answered his _questions_.

_Sir? The iron is heated to your specifications. I recommend that you begin the preparations for your breakfast._

"Coming, JARVIS."

He took a moment to think about Loki's unexpected attitude. Tricking Tony out of his win? That was typical. But this?

Tony thought back to the night before, trying to remember what Thor had said. It was fuzzy at best, but after years of binge-drinking, last night's endeavors were _nothing._ He remembered Thor carrying on about how sad he was that Loki was acting this way, how Thor had described his brother as artistic and misunderstood (Tony's heart seized up for a moment when he remembered Thor's description of his father's actions). Something about playing the game in teams, and ending without death.

Then Tony's headache returned, and he snatched the bottle of Advil off of the top of the dresser as he shoved the book and pen back into the tie-drawer.

* * *

When he returned, he was burdened with glorious waffles.

It was one of the wonderful things about being a genius. He could invent something that would make endless waffles for him, or he could program JARVIS to make them, or any number of other things that would get the waffles to his mouth. But there was something about pouring the batter into the scalding pan and pressing it closed, listening to the melodious hiss of the iron as it turned the waffle's crust into the perfect, crispy, golden shell around the fluffy white insides. It was a ritual that needed no technology to aid it.

Tony had narrowly evaded the Captain in the kitchen, catching a glimpse of him through the closing elevator doors. Choosing to eat upstairs had been a fantastic idea, because all food items tasted better without the seasoning of Captain Buzzkill's annoyed lectures.

The first bite of maple-y, buttery goodness was already in his mouth when JARVIS asked,_ Sir, do you intend to visit the results of the internet-database search for the keywords "Loki" and "games"?_

Tony swallowed reluctantly before replying. "I had you search for that?"

_Indeed, Sir._

"Huh. Well, pull it up on the screens at my desk, please." Tony shoveled more waffle into his mouth as the three screens came to life with articles and pictures.

_There was little found involving the combined keywords. Shall I search for something a bit broader?_

"Yeah... go for just 'Loki' and sort through all the recent articles to get to the relevant stuff. Myths, that sort of thing."

_Certainly, Sir._

Tony was disappointed as he scanned the pages that the first search had uncovered- there were some children's games from Norse cultures, some random blog posts, and one fairly disturbing Youtube video consisting of grainy pictures of Loki with the accompanying song "Love Game" by Lady Gaga.

"Scrap all of this, JARVIS, and show me the new stuff."

The images on the screens vanished and were replaced by old-fashioned texts and distorted imagery. Tony blinked at it for a moment before leaning back in his chair. "Give me the basics." JARVIS explained as Tony stuffed his face with waffles.

_Loki is known as the God of Mischief, or the God of Lying. He has undergone reincarnation numerous times, most recently as the adopted brother of Thor- though, that is what we know from Mr. Odinson's testimony. Loki is notable because of his utter disregard for rules and boundaries, and for his tendency to become easily bored-_

"Teff m' summfn n'," Tony called through a particularly massive bite.

_...I beg your pardon?_

With some difficulty, he swallowed. "We know all of that already. Tell me something new- something legendary."

And JARVIS did. The myths were confusing at first, and Tony kept asking for visuals on the names. The first few stories were pretty tame... until Thor ended up in a wedding dress.

Tony sprayed crumbs across his desk. "Oh, God, is there a picture? Please tell me there's a picture."

_There is indeed a picture, Sir._

Tony burst out laughing at the old, hand-drawn picture of an irate Thor in a long, white dress (and a scowl to match Fury on his best day). Loki was at his side in similar garb, adjusting Thor's veil. "Oh, JARVIS, make that the ID picture for Thor on my phone, won't you?

_As you wish, Sir. Shall I continue?_

"Yeah, sure. Nothing could top that, though." Tony took another bite of waffle, still snickering.

_It would also seem that Loki fathered and birthed several children throughout his more recent incarnations due to his ability to shape shift-_

Tony choked.

After much coughing and much insisting that no, he did not want JARVIS to call Pepper, he asked, "Did you just say _birthed?_ As in,_ gave birth to?"_

_I did, Sir._

Tony shook his head slowly. "Didn't really see him as the mothering type..."

_Might I add that the births of his children did take place throughout his past life?_

"So he probably doesn't have stretch marks. Wonderful." Tony imagined Loki, pregnant and cranky, and shuddered.

Before Tony could ask JARVIS to expand on it, someone began to hammer soundly on his door. "Stark! You've got a package downstairs."

Tony diminished the Loki-centered windows and grabbed his plate before making his way to the door. He opened it, relieved to find Clint instead of Steve. "A package? Here?"

"Yup. From D.E.F. Industries. Not too heavy, but Peps thought it might be something important, so it's waiting for you." Clint peered at him. "You wearing makeup or something?"

"D.E.F. Industries? Never heard of them. Maybe they're free samples or something." Tony ignored the last question as he slipped past Clint and into the hall. "You coming?"

The archer grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. It was getting a bit long. "I wish. I lost the coin toss with pretty boy down there, so I've got to check on Thor."

"Ouch, Good luck with that." Tony grinned around a bite of waffle.

"Thanks... seriously, man, what's with your face? You looked like you went ten rounds with a bull yesterday, and now you're all squeaky-clean." Clint's brows were furrowed.

"Oh. That." Tony thought fast. "Makeup. Lots. That's what took me so long. You seriously can't see anything?" He raised his eyebrows and blinked owlishly. Clint shrugged.

"Looks pretty good. Just don't go for the eyeliner, or I'll start to worry about you." Clint sent him a grin before heading off towards Thor's wing, and Tony breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Arriving downstairs, he came across Pepper, Steve, and Natasha, all of whom were eyeing a box the size of a college student's backpack. Steve opened his mouth, no doubt to say something scathing, but Pepper elbowed him and he closed it again. He still glared, though.

"Morning, darlings," Tony dropped his empty plate on the counter on his way to the mystery box. "Somebody got me an early birthday present?"

"Your birthday was a month ago," Natasha said dryly. "Remember? Two of your cars ended up at the bottom of the pool?"

"Early Christmas, then." Tony pulled open one of the utensil drawers and rummaged until he came up with a pair of scissors. "Has it been scanned? Nothing naughty? Wouldn't want the Captain exposed to anything, now would we...?"

_There are no traces of harmful substances or devices. It should be safe to open._

With that, Tony flipped the scissors open and dug them into the tape, ripping the package open.

Inside was a number of individual packages wrapped neatly in what seemed to be newspaper. That was odd- for larger companies, there was usually more finesse than using the comics (though Tony couldn't see Garfield anywhere...). A small typed not sat on top of the packages, and Tony plucked it from where it sat.

_To the Avengers, it read, who seem to have such a fondness for hiding the truth._

It was signed_ L. Astuce._

"O-kay, I have never heard of this man in my life. Or-" he glanced at the box, "D.E.F. Industries. Look 'em up for me, JARVIS?"

_Certainly, Sir._

As JARVIS processed, Tony dropped the not onto the counter and began to pull packages out of the box. There was a small name printed on the top of each one.

"Catch, Cap!" Tony might've admitted to throwing a little harder than was necessary (and _maybe_ aiming for Steve's face), but the Captain caught it without trouble.

"And... One for Clint. He can get it once he gets back from waking Thor... and speaking of Thor..." Tony set the two packages on top of the counter. "Ah, here we go. One for Natasha-" she caught it easily and turned it over in her hands, looking intrigued. "-one for... Bruce. Huh. Hey, Pots! You get one, too!"

Pepper caught it, looking wary. "Tony, I don't want to take Bruce's just because he isn't here. We can mail it to him-"

"No, that one's _yours._ I guess that makes you an Avenger, right?" Tony grinned before returning to the box. "Now, my question is, where's mine... Oh."

"Don't tell me- they forgot you." Captain deadpanned, beginning to rip at the paper.

"No... there's one for Fury."

Everyone's heads jerked upwards to look at him. "But Fury isn't known to the public," Pepper said in a hushed voice, as though the sender might hear. "How would they know to send one for him?"

_Sir, I have searched every one of our national and international databases. D.E.F. Industries does not exist._

Steve dropped his half-opened package as though it held the plague, and Pepper looked tempted to do the same thing. Tony gulped. "Okay... then how about Astuce? L. Astuce? Just look up the word, I doubt it's a real name."

He set Fury's aside and reached for the last one at the bottom, the one with_ Anthony Stark_ written across the top.

"Hold on- you're going to open that?" Steve looked alarmed, not angry (for once).

"JARVIS said it wasn't harmful. Besides, I'm sure you know the saying about gift horses and mouths." Tony was about to rip into it when JARVIS spoke up:

_Sir, the word "astuce" is French for "trick."_

It took a few moments of the following stunned silence for Pepper to understand and fling her package away with a shriek. Tony looked at his with a newfound respect.

_Enjoy the clues_, Loki had written.

Tony ripped his open, oblivious to Pepper and Steve's warning shouts. Beneath the paper was-

-a wolf mask.

He dropped the newsprint carelessly on the floor and stared at the gift in his hands. It was made of simple plastic and had small slits in the wolf's yellow eyes for the wearer to see through. The animal bared its teeth, but it was obviously mass-produced and cheap. Tony frowned. He had expected better from Loki.

Glancing up, he saw that the others were regarding him with mixed levels of confusion and worry. He held it up wordlessly.

"Interesting," Natasha muttered. She opened her own in deft movements before anyone could tell her not to, and she displayed what she found: a tiger mask.

"I'll open yours for you if you want, pops," Tony offered, but Steve nailed him with a glare and snatched it up. He turned an odd, blotchy shade of red when he tore off the paper, and he reluctantly showed them his mask: a golden retriever's sweet face looked back at them (Tony snorted).

"JARVIS, see what 'def' means in French. Could be a clue."

"Def isn't a French word," Natasha told him. She was examining the mask in her hands.

(Oh, right. Fluent in French.) "What about d-e-f-i, 'defi'?"

She glanced up, looking contemplative. "Defi. Could be défi, which means 'challenge'."

Tony twitched at the word. D.E.F. Industries. défi. Challenge. How clever.

"So Loki's challenging us," The Captain said, rubbing his jaw and eyeing the golden retriever mast with distaste. Tony almost said "Me, not us," but he bit his tongue and resisted.

Instead, he said, "Potts, what's yours?"

Pepper eyed her package as though it was a snake, and after a moment, Tony went over and picked it up for her.

"Aww... That's just adorable!" He held it up: a kitten mask. She looked both insulted and relieved. "You and Rogers are the cute editions!"

They protested, but Tony found himself smiling broadly. Loki had them all nailed. (He didn't really get his own mask, though...)

"JARVIS? Call Thor and Clint and get them down here. They're missing the presents."

_Certainly, Sir._

Steve was staring at Tony oddly. "You haven't forgotten where these came from, have you? They could have surveillance features, or poison, or, hell, they could turn us into animals, and you're acting like it's Christmas morning!"

"Seems a lot like Christmas to me, Cap. I'll run some tests on the plastic, no worries." (Tony did wonder what would happen if he put his on, though, and he ended up leaving it on the counter for the time being.)

When Hawkeye and Thor arrived (annoyingly, the only sign of Thor's drunken antics were the dark circles beneath his eyes), they reacted quite differently. Upon hearing that the packages were from Loki, Clint whipped out an arrow and aimed it at his package, looking rather savage, until he finally heard that Natasha was saying "not harmful" over and over again. Thor was ecstatic. He ripped his open gleefully and roared in delight when he found a bear mask beneath the newspaper. He'd put it on immediately despite Pepper's shriek of caution, but when there was no bear-Thor sitting in his place after a few moments, they determined that the masks were safe to wear.

Once Clint got over his initial reservations, he opened his to reveal a golden eagle mask. ("I guess they were all out of hawks," Tony joked. No one laughed.)

After some hesitation, Tony had convinced the rest of them to let him open Bruce and Fury's packages to see their masks. Bruce was a rhino, while Fury got a lion's growling face. Again, each choice of animal was eerily appropriate.

When the rest of the team showed their masks to Thor and Clint, they had agreed that each mask seemed to suit its recipient. Upon seeing Tony's, Clint nodded and said, "I get it- you're a lone wolf." Everyone had agreed and moved on, but Tony's mind had stalled.

_Lone wolf._

Lone. Because he was taking on Loki alone.

But that couldn't be right, he told himself. Loki had been on earth a few months- it was unlikely that he had picked up all of the nuances of their idioms and turns of phrase. It was a coincidence.

Still, the gleam of the kitchen lights on the mask's plastic yellow eyes did nothing to assuage his unease.

* * *

**Intrigue, huh? I like this chapter, personally, and I'm really excited about the one to come. I have interesting ideas... *winks***

**Thank you all for your patience and for your kind feedback! I really appreciate it.**

**Cheers!**

**BlackSheep**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello, everyone! **

**Sorry for the delay, but once I started this one writing it kind of... got away from me. So it's another long one. *facepalm***

**This is a really fun chapter. It's a Loki chapter, so of course it's fun, right? Right. So I'll shut up and let you guys read, eh?**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Warnings: Not so much swearing, but a _little_ bit of something a _little_ slashy... *winks***

* * *

_Three months earlier._

Loki despised New York at first. It was filthy and cacophonous and discombobulating, and he felt no remorse whatsoever for trying to squash it beneath his boot heel.

However, though he would never admit it, there were some aspects of it that he (slowly) grew to appreciate.

The first had been the parks. They had been his refuges in the days before he had found proper shelter, whenever he grew sick off of the bus fumes or other toxic gasses (normally it wouldn't have bothered him in the slightest, only his magic was severely depleted for numerous reasons). They still reeked of the city, but sitting under a tree was far superior to sitting at a bus stop.

Second, it was the coffee. The similar substance from Asgard had always been too thin and gritty for Loki's palate. It had taken him quite a while to actually _try_ the stuff, but after seeing the white and green plastic cups in the hands of every Midgardian on the street for the month that he had been in New York, his curiosity had gotten the best of him. He still preferred tea, make no mistake, but there was something about a fresh Midgardian coffee that made him quite content (and a bit jittery after third one, he'd noticed).

Then, after the culture-shock had worn off (and after he'd found himself a nice, clean penthouse that _wasn't_ the gutter), he had realized the truth about the city. It wasn't just noise and scum and overcrowding- it was _chaos_. Beautiful, orderly chaos, that which he loved and created and thrived off of. It was only after this epiphany that living on Midgard became, for the time being, tolerable.

And it was after this progression of acceptance that he became aware of the newsstands that littered New York's streets like... well, litter. He was walking by in the guise of a older man in a gentleman's suit when a the large, flashy photograph on the cover of magazine caught his eye. Loki wouldn't have looked twice at the stand had the picture not consisted of a group shot of "Earth's Mightiest Heroes".

He stopped and stepped forward to examine it more closely.

Under the heading was a small line that read, _"The Avengers' Tony Stark Tells All in this EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW!"_

Loki thought back to the few moments that he had spent in Tony Stark's company. The man had been witty and cocky under Loki's scrutiny, something with which he was not terribly familiar. Tossing him out of his own window had been thoroughly enjoyable.

And now he was going to "tell all"? Loki doubted it. Still, he pulled a magazine from the rack and moved on, ignoring the shouts from the keeper of the stand. He ducked into Bryant Park and skipped to the article in question, grateful for once that he had studied books of every language in Asgard's libraries.

The text was riddled with pictures, mostly of the "billionaire" Tony Stark, but a few of them showed the other members of the team smiling (some awkwardly, some easily) for the camera. Several of Stark's pictures included beaming women, though only a red-head showed up twice.

The article began with a reminder of the battle against the aliens (which Loki skipped- he'd _been_ there, for Odin's sake...) and then the "Q-and-A" started.

_Lauren Richards: So, Tony, I've heard that the Avengers have relocated to your family's mansion. What's that like?_

_Tony: Well, it's not crowded per se, but some of the walls are a bit thin. You would not _believe_ how loud Thor's snores are. It's like an all-night monster truck rally. Seriously._

(At this, Loki snorted. It was overwhelmingly true.)

_L.R.: Wow! Sounds like that would be hard to deal with. What about the Captain? Does he snore?_

_Tony: Nah, he just takes a quick ice bath and sleeps like the dead._

_L.R.: Gotcha. It must be hard, living in such close proximity to each other. Is there a lot of conflict, or...?_

_Tony: Conflict? Me? Never..._

_L.R.: Come on, Tony, don't play coy with me..._

_Tony: Well... there was this one fiasco when Thor washed his cape with some of the Captain's delicates. Let's just say that pink was the new... everything._

_L.R.: Yikes! That can't be good. Didn't anyone teach Thor about Earth's laundry rules?_

_Tony: Not really. During the first few months, we were a bit too busy for that kind of thing. You know, scraping aliens off of the sidewalks, sweeping glass off of the streets. You would not believe how much glass is in New York's dustbins right now..._

_L.R.: Sounds rough! With all that being said, could you give me a quick run through the average day in the lives of the Avengers?_

_Tony: I can't speak for all of my team - Natasha would kill me with her bare hands if I tried - but we all have different schedules, that hasn't changed a bit. We all take shifts helping out in the city with the reconstruction and random patrols, so there isn't much time for playing poker or watching movies right now. It really does vary for everyone, though._

_L.R.: I totally get it- isn't that why you were the only one able to join us for the interview?_

_Tony: That, and Captain America isn't too big on publicity. Seventy years of solitude will do that to a guy,_

_L.R.: I understand perfectly. Now, you mentioned patrols. Are you just looking for muggers and other petty criminals, or are you on the scent of something more serious?_

_Tony: Well, I want to say that there's no sign of another egotistical bad guy gearing up, but I don't want to jinx anything._

_L.R.: And I have to ask- what about Loki? Now that Thor has returned from his planet, is it safe to assume that Loki is being contained there?_

_Tony: ...The situation is under control as far as I've heard._

Loki lowered the magazine, staring blankly at the trees ahead of him. His descent from Asgard hadn't exactly been subtle (he thought back to the smoking crater in the centrally located park and winced). Not to mention that Thor would have told the Avengers the truth about his escape,and yet... Tony Stark was lying to the reporter. Loki nodded slightly to himself: he approved.

_L.R.: That's a relief! I know you must have heard these kinds of questions a hundred times, but what were you thinking when you were fighting Loki? What went through your head?_

_Tony: It was a combination of 'holy crap, he's shooting blue stuff at me' and 'what did I do to piss off the mountain goat'?_

Loki scowled. The horns were for intimidation.

_L.R.: Ha! Reasonable enough. Now, Tony, we're almost out of time, but I've got to ask: all of the ladies out there are wondering how this new living situation is affecting your dating life. What do you have to say to them?_

Loki almost closed the magazine, but his eyes slid to the last line.

_Tony: Ah. Well... where there's a will, there's a way, right?_

Loki wanted to drop the magazine into a trash can. The interview section was over, but there were a few paragraphs left to read, one under each of the pictures. The old habit of reading everything that he could get his hands on kept the magazine open, and he scanned each section of text.

Some he snickered at (Captain America saved a helpless kitten last Thursday night...) and some were rather disturbing (what in Odin's name was_ Shawarma?_). The one that caught his eye, though, was a small sentence near the bottom, accompanied by a picture of the garish red and gold armor.

_As we all know, Tony Stark had been using the Iron Man suit that he invented to stop crime and terrorism prior to joining the Avengers team._

Loki allowed the magazine to droop as he pondered that. While under his control, Agent Barton had told him a great deal about each member of the team, about their strengths and weaknesses. While the archer had spoken of Tony Stark's resources and possessions, but not his proclivities for creation.

He skimmed the interview again, looking for any mention of Tony Stark's talents, but he found none. Loki pursed his lips slightly, thinking. He liked to know an enemy before engaging in combat, and he had been _woefully_ uninformed about some of the more interesting aspects of his opponents. He shook his head slightly in disgust- even when he had someone under _mind control_, practically _spelling out_ what he wanted, the task was ill-performed. But then again, he did his best work alone, relying on no one but himself. Perhaps it was time to revisit his plans for the city (for he had many magnificent ideas, make no mistake).

First, though, he would need to learn all that there was to know about Tony Stark and the rest of the Avengers (who could fathom what else Barton had neglected to mention?). But how would he go about it without raising suspicion? Who would go around asking for information on Mr. Stark?

His eyes drifted to the pictures again, and a smirk crossed his face.

* * *

Loki entered the New York Public Library in the form of a blonde mortal woman with wide blue eyes. He approached the front desk with hesitant steps and waited for the middle-aged woman to notice him. It didn't take long- he doubted that she had many tall, blonde visitors.

"May I help you?" She asked in a skeptical tone and a heavy Long Island accent.

Loki tugged at his hair, mimicking what he's seen on the street a thousand times. "Um... yeah. Hi. Can you tell me where the books on Tony Stark are?" He blinked innocently at the book-keeper.

The woman snorted loudly and rocked back in her chair. "The books on Stark? Honey, there are no books on Stark. There are magazines, and there are books about his research and technological advancements-" she stopped at the puzzled expression that Loki had pasted onto his face, and she sighed. "You'd be better off looking online. You've used a computer before, right?"

This time, his confusion wasn't quite as forced. "A what?"

The librarian stared at him for a moment before shaking her head in disbelief and turning to call softly, "Joanne! We have someone in urgent need of your technology tutoring."

"How old?" Came the reply.

The woman eyed Loki's guise. "Twenty-five."

"You're joking." A young brunette rounded the corner wheeling a cart full of biographies. She stopped short upon seeing Loki. "Huh. Or not." She gave an almighty heave to get the cart rolling again and jerked her head at Loki. "C'mon, Britney. You're with me."

"Who's Britney?" Loki asked, amused. He didn't feel overly irritated at their demeaning glances- after all, in the end, _he_ was the one deceiving _them._

Joanne left the cart by the counter and lead Loki up a flight of stairs to a side room lined with rectangular screens. They were like the ones Loki had glimpsed while on board Fury's flying headquarters, only thicker and not quite as sleek. Joanne lead Loki to one of them and pulled up a chair. "Sit. I'll teach you the basics."

Loki widened his eyes and beamed. "You'd do that for me?" The sarcasm was lost in the sugary voice of the blonde woman.

"Yeah, yeah. Sit." Joanne eyed Loki as he sat. "Where're you from?"

Loki shrugged, glancing around the room. It was very clean and very quiet, as was the rest of the library, or at least what he had seen of it. He considered creating a wormhole between his apartment and the building, but decided that teleportation would be simpler. "Canada."

"They have computers in Canada," Joanne muttered, but at Loki's continued shrugging, she eventually focused on pressing the little squares on the rectangle of plastic in front of the screen. "Now, watch me, okay?"

The woman talked constantly about keys and mice and servers and pages, and eventually Loki just shut out the Midgardian jargon and examined her movements. The rounded oval controlled a small arrowhead on the screen that could help maneuver through the symbols and options presented on the screen. The squares each had a letter that could be used to create messages, commands, lists, anything. Eventually, Joanne turned on the computer in front of Loki and watched, startled, as his fingers found the squares and the oval with no trouble at all (he'd always learned at a rapid pace).

He made his way to the "Google" that Joanne had visited, and typed "Tony Stark" into the small box. He noticed when Joanne left, but didn't acknowledge it. He was already immersed in a new world.

It had been Loki's intention to find out as much as possible about each of the Avengers (which wouldn't be too much on this device, seeing as anyone could access it), but starting with Stark had derailed that plan. The "Wikipedia" had a plethora of interesting stories and facts about the resident billionaire, from the list of scholarly degrees that made Loki's eyebrows rise to the rocky history with his father. That was what had really gotten Loki's attention. The matter only had a paragraph dedicated to it, but it made Loki's heart give an unexpected pang of sympathy:

_While Tony Stark's relationship with his father was a largely private affair, there have been enough public incidents to suggest a difficult road. Tony has been known to smear his father's parenting and overall disapproval in offhand comments and other subtle ways, and close friends have attested to that fact. On the other hand, Howard Stark was never quoted about his son's accomplishments, and is rumored to have not attended his son's graduation from MIT, nor any of the other graduate programs that Tony sailed through. On several drunken occasions, Tony has been quoted as calling his father 'cold', 'unsympathetic', and 'unloving.' However, the Stark family is known for its desire for privacy, and little more is known about the complicated relationship between father and son._

Loki sat back slowly, eyes unfocused as he pondered the words. It was a simple enough paragraph, but some of the words resonated within him.

_Overall disapproval._

_Unsympathetic._

_Unloving._

Loki shook off the stupor and moved on.

* * *

By the time he stood up, he had skimmed twenty Wikipedia pages, sixteen sites about Stark Tech and Tony's inventions, seven profile sites for the Avengers, and one disturbing website called "Tumblr" (He'd exited as quickly as he could, but some of the images were seared into his brain).

He stood up and stretched, knowing that the motion pulled the hem of his dress higher than was proper and not caring in the slightest. His head whirled with the information he'd learned- a surprising amount, seeing as Fury had his databases locked tighter than Roger's saintly legs (according to website thirty-six, anyway).

Loki didn't quite feel like going to his apartment, though. This library reminded him slightly of the central library of Asgard's capital city. The old building had been his sanctuary after Thor's company had come to mean the company of Thor's friends as well. As much as he craved chaos, sometimes silence was better.

He wandered out of the "computer" room and into the stacks. The second floor curled around a central area that consisted of an enormous reading room, full of long tables with people researching and studying and- of course - reading. Loki wandered over to the edge and rested his hands against the smooth, polished wood. Just enjoying the silence.

It didn't last. Loki felt eyes on his back and turned slightly, glancing around the neighboring stacks surreptitiously. There, amid the poetry- a young man in his twenties was staring at the same spot on a page of the book he held. His eyes didn't even flicker.

Loki faced forward again. There was no one else in the immediate vicinity. Was the man from S.H.I.E.L.D.? Had they managed to find a way to track him?

He swore silently and had begun to map escape routes when the sound of shifting fabric tickled his ears and he snapped his head towards the young man.

"Hey." He smiled, white teeth gleaming beneath a straight nose and blue eyes. With the blonde hair, he reminded Loki a bit of Thor. The comparison did nothing to allay his unease- if anything, it only made him more tense.

On the other hand, a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent wouldn't dare to address Loki directly during a covert operation. "...Hello."

The young man stepped forward and leaned against the handrail, still smiling a bit. "I don't think I've seen you here before. And I'm here a lot for research, so I would know a face like yours."

The irritating grin spoke volumes. The sly tilt was the trademark of a a manipulator, and the confidence behind it suggested that he had gone through these motions many times before. As the master of lies, Loki had always prided himself on being able to discern falsehoods, sometimes before they even crossed a person's lips. This mortal was lying in multiple ways- he frequented the library, yes, but not for research. Maybe he believed that the women here would be more willing to trust a decent-looking young man.

Loki glanced back to the tables below them, forcing himself to remain in the persona of the pleasant-looking female that he seemed to be. "If you've been here so long, then tell me; what's your favorite book?"

"_Wuthering Heights._" A practiced, immediate response. What a degenerate. And- was he actually _moving closer?_

"Really? I would have thought that you preferred poetry." Loki played along, growing steadily more bored and irritated. He should blast this insolent mortal to bits, but it would be an unpleasant way to end his first visit to the library.

At his side, the man shrugged. "Anything romantic will do. I'm a sucker for a happy ending, poetry or prose."

It was sickening, and Loki's patience was beginning to fray dangerously. "Liar. Leave now." Loki bristled as the man touched his arm.

"I'm not lying," The man began, but he cut off in a raspy yelp as Loki's hand closed around his windpipe.

"Do not _touch_ me, mortal, and do not try to_ lie_ to me!"

Loki tossed him over the balcony with a short thrust, the stranger's yell echoing in the tall ceilings as he crashed onto one of the tables. At the pointing and shouting, Loki scowled and teleported himself into his apartment. The silence had been ruined.

* * *

_Two Months later_

Loki flashed his magically-manufactured invitation at the bouncer, smiling cheekily as he mounted the six short steps to the Avengers' Mansion.

As he entered, he was assaulted by the noise of people already drunk and incapable of normal behavior. He wrinkled his nose in distaste before reminding himself that he was here to _observe,_ to _learn._ Computers and magazines could only do so much. He accepted a glass of something red and sparkling, but only sipped at it as he scanned the crowd, looking for an Avenger.

He didn't have to strain himself- the archer was dancing outrageously on the piano bench in a room that might've been a parlor earlier in its life. It had been downgraded to "Dance Studio."

Or maybe "Dance Studio Three," Loki thought to himself as he moved further into the house and discovered that people were truly dancing everywhere in the dim, dusky rooms. Or, to be more accurate, the Midgardian way of dancing. One or two people tried to draw Loki in, but he declined with a shake of his head or (just once) a shove.

He was female again, because he had guessed (correctly) that no one would think suspiciously of an extra beautiful woman at Tony Stark's thirty-fifth birthday party. His hair was black and long, but it fell in well-groomed, tousled curls that fell to the middle of his back. He had also kept his pale skin and green eyes, though he had made the green of his gaze a bit paler than usual. Yes, it was a bit bold, but Loki was feeling a bit overconfident. He felt that he had every right to, seeing as the Avengers had decided to get overwhelmingly smashed all at once.

This theory was hampered a bit when Loki sighted Steve Rogers in the corner of a living area, drinking something pink, glowering, and looking wholly out of place. Loki made a mental note to avoid that corner, just in case. He smoothed the silky crimson dress that he'd conjured, smirking at some of the more desperate, revealing outfits around him. He hadn't ever suspected that one could construct a dress out of only netting.

A cheer rose from the crowd of people, and Loki turned to find Tony Stark standing on top of the island of countertop in the kitchen area, a bottle of something amber-colored in one hand and a microphone (Loki had learned the word online) in the other. He was wearing a thoroughly debauched suit and had a flower caught in his hair. Loki moved closer as the host raised the bottle, grinning.

"Welcome, welcome, one and all!" He swayed a bit, and Loki cocked his head to one side. He'd heard that Stark got drunk regularly and thoroughly, but he'd never seen it before. "I'm _so glad_ that you could all come see me tonight! I even recognize a few of you- no, not you," he added as a woman tried to clamber onto the island beside him. "And in order to make sure that everyone has a _fantastic_ time, I dare everyone here to_ try_ to get as drunk as I am now!"

The crowd cheered as he hopped down, and he was surrounded by people clapping him on the back and talking to him loudly before the music came on full volume (Loki winced) and the dancing began anew.

Loki heard a familiar, booming laugh, and ducked away from the sound. The last thing he wanted was for Thor to stumble across him- even drunk, Thor had always had a knack for recognizing Loki as who he truly was. Besides, he needed to get around to snooping for more insights into what made the Avengers tick. He suddenly swore- he'd gone the wrong way in avoiding Thor, and had ended up by the enormous plate-glass windows instead of by the elevator.

He was about to turn around and make his way through the writhing masses when a warm hand suddenly landed on his bare shoulder.

Loki's instinct was to hurl whoever it was over his head and stomp on his or her windpipe, but the voice of reason stopped him. Then the other person's voice said, "I've never seen you before, and for that I am truly sorry."

Loki turned slowly, a smile curling over his face. "You should not have to be sorry on your birthday, Tony. You should be able to do whatever you wish without regret."

"That's just the thing-" Tony moved a bit closer, an answering smile on his face. Despite being drunk, there was a wild clarity in his eyes. "-I wish we'd met much earlier in the evening, so that I would have a better shot at remembering you in the morning."

Loki tilted his head to one side slightly. It was no wonder that Stark had so many women with him in the tabloids- if he was this devil-tongued when he was drunk, he would be downright_ dangerous_ when sober. (In more ways than the usual, anyway.) "Is that so?"

"Mm-hm. Dance with me." It wasn't polite, but Loki didn't complain as he was led into the throng of people. He would vehemently deny feeling nervous, but he hadn't expected to come so close to any of the Avengers. At least he had his magic, should he be found out.

Other women pressed close to Stark as he brought them to the center of the floor, but he ignored them as he passed the bottle to someone else in order to place his hands on Loki's hips.

Loki found himself in the unfamiliar position of having to dance like a Midgardian. (And having his face terribly close to that of Tony Stark.) In Asgard, dancing required quite a bit more room than he possessed, but thankfully, improvisation was one of Loki's specialties.

He placed his hands on Stark's shoulders and began to move, slowly at first, until he and Stark found their rhythm. The bass was low and inviting, and with a suddenly feral grin, Loki gave in.

He swayed his hips and slid his hands up into Stark's hair as he did a set of Asgardian steps to the beat of the drum, tossing his hair over his shoulders. Stark's smile was broad as his hands slid up to Loki's waist and pulled him slightly closer, his grip loose enough to let Loki spin and dance but tight enough to keep him close.

Loki stepped close and then away, taking one of Stark's hands in his own as he pulled him towards the edge of the dance floor. He needed_ space._ He needed to_ dance_.

Stark followed him easily, his thumb slipping accidentally (or not) against the back of Loki's hand. The man's fingers were quite a bit smoother and warmer than Loki had expected.

Loki laughed, loud and wicked. He felt like he'd just won a fight and like he was about to leap into battle, all at once.

One they reached he fringe, Loki lifted their hands and spun, stopping sharply when Stark pulled him close and dipped them dangerously low. Loki would have panicked any other day, but he was too enraptured by music and touch and revelry.

"I'm not much good at fancier dancing," Stark breathed into Loki's ear, goatee grazing his cheek in an oddly pleasant way, "But I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to see what you can do."

Loki's breath caught as Stark righted them abruptly, and he responded, "And tonight is all about what you want."

"Precisely."

Loki began to dance in earnest. He used Stark as a backdrop, an assistant, as he leaped and spun and kicked into the air.

It was fast, urgent, a frenzy as he released the movement that had built up in his limbs (Oh, how he'd _missed_ this!). He arched and wound himself around Stark like a snake, springing back when Stark tried to close his arms around him. Loki became the wind, spinning and elongating himself into a gale before he raised himself on his toes and became the trees, reaching and arching and leaping just a bit too high-

-and Stark was the mountain, catching him (and only staggering a little despite his drunkenness).

Their faces were much too close together as Stark set him down, but the hands on Loki's waist held him fast as he tried to step away. Loki's blood froze in his veins and then began to race, and he stood rigidly in Stark's grip. The strobe light's flash struck Stark's cheekbones in a glancing blow, and Loki could see something hungry in the dark satin eyes.

Then someone knocked into Stark from behind, and Loki stumbled away and teleported home as Stark's grip vanished and his eyes looked elsewhere for a moment.

Loki's breathing was too fast and too loud in the silence of his penthouse, and he swore shakily. He hadn't even found out anything useful about the team.

He shifted to his true self, but his reflection in the glass of the windows was wide-eyed and wild-looking. He laughed a little, and it came out bestial.

But Stark had just become far more interesting.

* * *

_Present day._

Tony woke up to a cold front in his room. He sat up sharply, grasping blindly for the blankets that he had kicked to the foot of his bed in some dream or another (probably the dream about being tossed out of a window) before he registered what was going on. He fumbled for the light switch and blinked at he brightness before yanking open the drawer at his bedside and hauling out the book.

As he opened it and pulled covers more tightly around his shoulders, he said, "JARVIS? Wake me next time we find ourselves in the middle of the Icecapades."

_I apologize, Sir. I shall do my best._

Tony flipped to the correspondence page, blinking heavily at the words. It had been three days, just as Loki had warned, and they were no closer to unraveling the clues.

**_You have thre__e__ hours,_** the message said.

That was all. Tony frowned and skipped ahead, past the first two pictures, before discovering something new.

_Challenge Two:_

_Restore them to their previous states._

Tony turned the page.

"Oh, shit."

* * *

**Heh- a real cliffhanger this time.**

**Did you like the flashbacks? I was feeling a little Loki-deprived. Plus, the slash is taking _far_ longer than I'd anticipated, so this is a little treat for you all since you're being so patient... *winks***

**More soon. I accept bribes, but reviews are my only currency...**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep**

**P.S.: I have no _idea_ what the reading room of the New York Public Library looks like. I made it up. Don't hate me. *cowers***


	13. Chapter 13

**Ah, the second Challenge. It's been quite some time in the making...**

**I won't hold you up- enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Warning: LOTS of swearing, naturally.**

* * *

Tony stared at the picture in abject horror. It took him a minute to process the space covered by the colorful expanse, simply because it was was downright_ massive_ compared to the previous challenge. He could barely make out the people that were pictured- they were ant-sized. Tony wondered if his sleepy eyes were playing tricks on him, because he could've sworn that some of them were odd colors, odd shapes, not even human-looking... He peered closely at one, scrubbing sleep out of his eyes as realization blossomed within him. Maybe they weren't human at all.

He leaped out of bed and crashed to the floor as his feet tangled in his sheets. Swearing a bit too loudly, he hustled/limped over to the desk where he'd left the magnifying glass. The magnification wasn't strong enough to make out details, but the picture remained sharp when he ogled it through the glass.

Yeah. That looked like a giraffe.

Tony dropped the glass and scrubbed his eyes with his hands before skipping back to the correspondence page. "Three hours._ Shit._ JARVIS, what time is it?"

_Eight o'clock A.M., Sir._

"Shit," Tony repeated, skipping back to the page with the picture. "JARVIS, where would I find the strongest magnifying glass in the Mansion?"

_It would likely be in your father's study on the first floor._

"Thanks." Tony grabbed the book and almost ran out of the room before stopping to grab a shirt. "And turn up the thermostat, would you?"

He didn't wait for a reply before stuffing the book under his shirt and dashing towards the elevator. Three hours. What the fuck could he do in _three hours?_

When he arrived on the first floor, the Captain was waiting for him outside the elevator doors. "I heard a crash. You okay?"

"Peachy. Please move," Tony dodged and made a beeline for the hallway that lead to his lab and his father's old office. Annoyingly, Steve kept pace with him.

"What happened? Did you knock something over? You're usually not up and active until ten or eleven."

Tony quickened his steps. "Well, things change. I had an idea about what Loki may be up to, and I need-" he stopped short and doubled back, realizing he'd passed the office. Steve waited in the doorway as Tony hastened to the desk and began throwing open drawers and ransacking them, choking on the dust. He ignored the smell of his father that lingered in the air even after a decade or so of disuse.

"What do you need? Maybe I can help." Tony could hear the frown in Steve's voice. "And what's under your shirt? Liquor?"

"I don't need-" Tony stopped himself, thinking of his time constraint. "Yeah, actually, get in here. Look for the strongest magnifying glass you can find."

The Captain's footsteps seemed distant as Tony rifled through unused checks, business cards, rubber bands, pens, paperwork- "My_ God,_ where_ is_ it?"

"It's on top of his filing cabinets." Steve shoved it under his nose, and after a surprised moment, Tony snatched it up (gratefully, of course) and hurried from the room. "Stark,_ wait,_ just- dammit!"

"There's no time, Cap, just keep an eye on all of the zoos until I resurface, okay?" Tony shielded the keypad with his body as he typed in the code, struggling to keep the book under his shirt and the bulky engineer's glass in his hand.

"An eye on the-? Stark, we_ checked_ the zoos. There was no sign of Loki in any of them, much less anything _dangerous-"_

"Just _trust me,_ okay? Come on, Cap, this is_ important._" Tony felt desperate, as though he could see the sand trickling through the hourglass and counting down his three hours. And if Rogers saw the book, Tony was well and truly fucked.

"If it's important then you have to_ tell_ me- Tony,_ stop-_" But Tony had already slammed the door in Steve's face.

"JARVIS, bolt that. Reinforce it as much as possible. It's important that I'm not disturbed." Tony descended the stairs with shaky legs before depositing the book and the magnifying glass on his main desk. "And brew some coffee, if you don't mind."

_I am doing both as we speak, Sir._

Tony took a ragged breath and sat down, using his T-shirt to rub dust from the three lenses of the glass. They swiveled in and out to focus things of varying size, which would be useful in scouring the picture for clues. He still might end up using a microscope, though, because some of this just looked so damn _small._

He settled in, grabbing the coffee that JARVIS brewed and reminding himself why this _wasn't_ a time to be drinking something stronger (even though it_ felt_ like one). Tony wondered where he should even start- a significant portion of the picture was covered in what looked like trees or other grassy areas. And although the challenge had not said anything about finding Loki, Tony felt that that would be a good place to start.

Tony folded the glasses to focus as much as possible on an area that was speckled with people. He could make out children with something pink- cotton candy, he realized - and adults wearing sunglasses. They were packed into the area as far as Tony could tell, and after a second, he knew why: he glimpsed a banner that read... (he squinted) GRAND OPENING- MADAGASCAR EXHIBIT!

Shit.

"JARVIS? Doesn't the Bronx have an exhibit on Madagascar?"

_Yes, I believe it opened some time this week._

"Today, by chance?" Tony didn't even try to hope that he was wrong.

_It would seem so, Sir._

Tony returned to the page to continue looking. "Call Fury or someone at S.H.I.E.L.D. and tell them to get someone down there. Anything suspicious. Let the team know that we're going on standby"

_Both parties will need a reason to do this, Sir._

"Tell them that... I don't know, tell them that the masks came up with DNA from something from Madagascar on them."

_As you wish, Sir._

Tony hunched over the picture and resumed the search.

* * *

He sat up almost a full hour later, shrugging his shoulders to reduce the tension. He'd only covered about a quarter of the picture with the glass. It was remarkable- no matter how close he leaned or how focused the glass was, he never reached a point where the picture became blurry, where he couldn't look any closer. He'd occasionally found himself lost in the drawings for minutes on end, examining something that was so_ lifelike_. And they _were_ drawings, he was certain of it- he never got down to the pen marks or brushstrokes, but it was just a_ feeling_ that he had. This was something organic, something raw created by a master's hand.

The master, however, was nowhere to be found.

Tony submerged himself again.

* * *

"_HA!_" He bolted upright, almost dropping the glass in his excitement. "I've _got_ you, you cheating sonofabitch!"

Tony ducked down to make sure, the smile broadening on his face when he rediscovered the trickster. Loki was leaning against the cage of some creatures that looked rather like white leopards. He was looking bored and vaguely amused in his more traditional battle-gear, not the business attire of his previous endeavors. Tony noticed that he'd forgone the helmet, and wondered if he'd done so because he was worried about a lion eating him (since they did look rather like a gazelle's horns).

Even though finding Loki wasn't the answer to the puzzle, Tony latched onto it like a life raft. He hadn't been able to find anything that needed to be "returned to its previous state," but he figured that if he could find Loki, he would find him at the center of whatever trouble was about to arise.

Tony glanced at the clock- it was half-past ten. His blood went cold- how could he only have thirty minutes left?

"JARVIS? Tell the Avengers to suit up. We've got a trickster god in the Bronx Zoo."

He didn't wait for the reply before hurrying to the circular panel in the floor and fitting his feet into the depressions there. "And suit me up while you're at it."

As the panels locked into place over his skin, he remembered that he was wearing nothing but a pair of pajama bottoms and an ACDC T-shirt. But hey, he'd fought evil in worse conditions. There was an irritated whirring on his left arm, and he glanced down in time to see the suit force itself closed over the gauntlet. Tony winced- he hoped that the bracelet wouldn't hamper the mobility in his arm.

As the screen before his face came to life, JARVIS spoke into his ear:

_Sir? Captain America is refusing to leave without an explanation._

Tony swore loudly. "Tell him to meet me there. We haven't got time for explanations. And open the doors to the tunnel."

_I shall do my best, Sir._

Tony turned to face the wall behind him as it parted with a hissing sound that made his skin crawl. It led up to the surface so that Tony could make a quick exit from the lab in order to get to an emergency in record time. He angled the flight stabilizers behind him, reveling in the familiar jolt as they came to life in a burst of light and energy. He was halfway through the tunnel when JARVIS informed him that Steve was attempting to call his cell. Tony allowed it as he turned upwards, shooting into the air before heading north to follow the route JARVIS provided to the Bronx.

Rogers' angry voice came over the over the radio.

"Stark! Tell me what's going on right now, or I'll call Director Fury."

"Keep your shirt on, Cap. I... I found DNA on-"

"Don't give me that, Tony, you said the masks were clean. What's really going on? Have you been drinking?"

Tony banked to avoid one of the skyscrapers, gritting his teeth. Why was it always about alcohol with Steve? Why couldn't he just _listen_, for_ once?_ "Steve, this is important. People are going to get hurt if we don't get to the zoo_ right now_. Do you want that on your conscience?"

"_Of course not-_"

"Then get your ass to the Bronx."

Tony ended the call before the Captain could disagree. "Time, JARVIS?"

_Ten thirty-nine, Sir._

"How far out are we?"

_Six minutes, thirty-seven seconds._

Tony cursed- there wasn't enough time to evacuate. He should've called ahead. "We'll have to do better than that. _Shit_, how did it get so_ late?_"

The wide, green expanse of the zoo had just entered Tony's field of vision when a brilliantly emerald light erupted from the center. Tony halted in midair and watched in horror as it washed over every inch of the territory before receding.

He hovered in midair for a startled moment before zooming in with the superior vision of his helmet. There were still things moving down there, nothing writhing in pain... but what was-?

Tony recoiled, barking an order for the vision to return to normal as he turned the blasters on full and rocketed towards the zoo. He patched into the radio frequency that the Avengers used, trying to control the panic in his voice.

"This is Stark calling from the zoo. We've got a serious problem here."

"What, you forgot your money for llama feed?" Natasha's voice was irritated.

"Loki let all of the animals out of their enclosures and replaced them with civilians. We need to get down there and stop the stampede." Even as he spoke, he was landing in front of the main entrance. A few of the smarter animals were already hightailing it out of there, and more were on the way. Tony fired a few blasts at the feet of a buffalo to scare it back behind the gates before doing the same to a clump of anxious-looking lemurs. They screeched at him, but eventually they fell back into the zoo. Tony darted forward and heaved the gates closed, bending them together to keep them from opening.

Then he turned to face the hoards of critters and gulped, hoping his suit was lion-proof. "Does anybody copy? I said-"

"We heard you." The Captain's voice was strained. "Hang in there and help as many people as you can. We're ten minutes out."

"Ten-? For the love of God, Cap, did you even leav-" Tony's words were cut off as a clump of grizzly bears charged him, roaring. He shot into the air, and the claws missed him by inches. "Just _hurry_."

He tuned out the reply, instead pulling up a virtual map to locate as many civilians as he could. "JARVIS, patch me in to the control center here so that we can keep the critters from getting in to the enclosures and eating people. See if you can get a hold of anyone at the main office. And JARVIS... find me the leopard cages."

_Of course, Sir._

It was stupid, thinking that finding Loki would put everything right again, but it was a chance.

_The cages for the snow leopards are by the side entrance just off of Southern Boulevard. Also, I've overridden the PA system in the main office. You may speak to the occupants._

Tony spoke as he aimed for the parts of the zoo with the most trapped people. "Thanks. Alright, anyone who's in there, I need you to grab as many tranquilizer guns as you can and start shooting things. It's important that we get these people out of here. Where are the emergency exits in the enclosures?"

He listened, then jerked as a screeching sound met his ears. _"Jeez-_ what was that, feedback?"

_It sounded rather like... an orangutan._

"Oh,_ fantastic._" Tony fired a few shots at an elephant that was trying to break through the bars of an enclosure. It trumpeted at him rudely (or so he suspected). "In that case, call animal control and give them the same message."

As he lowered himself into a section marked "Chimpanzee Court," there was a whirring sound above him, and he looked up just in time to see Captain America leap the twenty feet from the Avengers' jet to land beside him.

The Captain tapped his ear, and after a moment, Tony remembered to turn his radio back on. "Took you long enough."

"Can it. We've got work to do." Rogers approached the cowering, naked people with upturned hands and called, "Everybody remain calm. We're here to help you-"

They were all very still and staring until one of them, a young man, picked something up from the ground and threw it at Steve with a maniacal grin on his face. Steve ducked, and looked behind him at the projectile. "What on earth- I said we're here to _help-_"

This time, the object his him in the shoulder, doing no damage whatsoever. Tony stared and took a few steps back as more of them raised their throwing arms, chattering gleefully.

"I don't think they like us very much," Tony warned, moving back a bit more.

"They're only in shock, Stark-"

But his statement was cut off as three more chunks of _something_ caught him in the chest. The civilians leaped up and down, hooting in excitement.

"Dude... I think they're throwing crap at you."

"What? Don't be ridiculous-" Another turd caught the Captain on the side of the head, and a cluster of teenagers dissolved into hysterical laughter.

"You know what? I think you've got this under control. I'll see how... uh..." He looked around. "...how Thor's doing in the tiger enclosure over there."

"Stark, for crying out loud-"

But Tony was already gone, and he heard Steve swear behind him. He glanced back at the crap-hurling people as he landed a few feet from Thor, hoping that Loki hadn't messed too much with their heads.

Although, he was suddenly more concerned with his own head as a huge, muscular man charged him and tried to tackle him in a massive leap. "Shit!" Tony yelped as he staggered back, prying the man off of his face-plate.

"My friend, they are not accepting our aid," Thor bellowed. His left arm was bleeding from what looked like fingernail and teeth marks.

"They're in shock-" Tony dodged another attack, sighting an emergence exit sign in the corner. "Just get them down there, out of here-"

Thor grunted his assent as a screaming woman charged him, but he batted her away easily. "Clear a path to the main entrance, Tony. We will not be able to herd them all out through such a small opening."

"Roger that." Tony blasted off again and looked around, zooming in on every Avenger that he could see. Clint was using a stun-gun to subdue the animals near the food stands, and Natasha was shoving a crowd of wide-eyed civilians out of the lemur exhibit and through another back exit. Tony couldn't find any S.H.I.E.L.D. agents wandering around, and he swore inwardly. What he_ did_ see was an enormous lion tearing at the side gates that led to the street.

The gates that led to Southern Boulevard. Tony thought of the snow leopard enclosure and vowed to stop there next and look for the trickster.

He landed beside the lion and aimed a blaster at it, but before he could it turned and propelled itself towards him. The impact felt like getting hit by a small car, and Tony's back hit the pavement with a jarring _crash._

Above him, the lion roared in his face, glaring down at him. Tony was frantically preparing the flares when he realized that the lion was only glaring at him with _one_ eye. The other was surrounded by a scar tissue and sealed shut forever.

He stared at the immobile creature above him, eyes wide. A mask rose to the front of his mind.

"_...Fury?_"

As though in response, the lion sat up and roared at him again, so loud that Tony thought his ears would burst, but didn't attack him or make any other threatening motions.

His mind whirled:

Chimpanzees in the control center.

Civilians throwing feces and attacking when they tried to help.

_Fury._

Oh. Oh,_ shit._

Tony shoved the lion off of him and scrambled upright, staring dumbly as the creature sat very still, watching him. He patched into the radio feed, not even bothering to try to hide his shaky voice. "Guys, the people aren't in the cages."

There was a static-y pop before Steve replied, "My God, you _are_ drunk-"

"I'm_ not!_ Loki didn't let the animals loose and trap the civilians, he changed the form of every living thing in the zoo. The animals have been turned into people and the people have been turned into animals!"

* * *

**Tricky, eh? *cackles***

**Thank you all so much for your support and kind words! They always push me to write faster.**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep**

**(P.S.: Also, I've never been to the Bronx Zoo, so I made up its interior. *facepalm*)  
**


	14. Chapter 14

**I'm sorry it's been a while, guys! Things are _so_ crazy right now. I've been scrambling for time to write, and I finally got a solid couple of hours in. Now I'm beat. *yawns***

**But this chapter is _long_, and I really, really like it. In fact, I'll shut up so that you can read it...**

**Disclaimer: Not mine!**

**Warning: Swearing.**

* * *

_"Loki changed the forms of every living thing in the zoo. The animals have been turned into people and the people have been turned into animals!"_

There was a shocked silence on the radio.

"That can't be right. That's not right. Thor? Tell him it's not right." The Captain's voice was unexpectedly high-pitched.

"... My brother's powers are great. I believe that sorcery of this magnitude is within the limits of his capabilities."

More silence.

Finally, there was a vivid curse that made Tony's eyebrows rise, and Clint's voice sounded. "Well, then what the fuck are we supposed to do now?"

"Get all of the people back into the cages," Natasha ordered. "We'll almost certainly need Loki to sort this out, so keep a lookout."

"Some of these cages aren't made for people," the Captain said. Tony wondered if the shaky quality to his voice was real or imagined. "They might be able to climb out."

"Well, that might not be a bit problem. Most of the animals seem to have retained their canine brains. Or whatever." Tony stood upright. Fury growled at him. "Not_ you_, them," Tony gestured towards a couple of humans that were sunning themselves lazily in the leopard's cage. He felt a little sick to his stomach from the realization. "Oh, by the way, Fury's here. Or maybe it's _Furry_ now..."

"_What?_" The combined shouts made his ears ring almost as badly as Fury's roar, and he winced. "He's been lion-ized. He must've been here when the zoo went all Animal Farm."

"...what?"

"It's a book, Captain," Natasha informed him.

"Oh."

"Moving on," Tony reminded them, his heart sinking as he watched a cloud of rare-looking green birds take flight. He hoped that none of them were going to get eaten by pigeons or anything. "Loki is our priority, but we also need to try to minimize escapees and damage to the animals-_ hey!_"

Tony whirled in a circle, nearly trampling a handful of tiny frogs as he tried to pry a monkey off of his face. It was screeching and screaming at him in what might've been laughter, and after he'd torn it off and tossed it away, it eyed him cheekily.

"Loki? Dammit, is that you?" The monkey's screeching giggles started again, and Tony shuddered at the abrasive sound. "Look," Tony turned off his microphone, ignoring the Captain's questioning voice. "You need to put these people back, okay? You need- _no, get back here_-"

The monkey-Loki fled into the ticket-station by the gate, and Tony followed swiftly, cursing as he clambered over the counter. It cracked and splintered under the weight of the suit, and he fell flat on his face. He looked up just in time to see a brown, furry shape poise itself by the window at the opposite side. "Loki! Loki, this isn't funny, come back-" But the monkey only chattered happily at him and darted outside once more.

"_Shit!_" Tony dashed to the window and tried to force his way through, but it didn't open more than a few inches, and the metal frame stood firm. He hammered on it, shattering the glass, but the monkey tail had already vanished. "Loki! Dammit,_ Loki!_"

"Yes?"

Tony nearly gave himself whiplash. The trickster god leaned idly against the wall opposite Tony and had an utterly bemused expression on his face.

"But- I thought-?" Tony jerked his head around to try and find the monkey, but there was no sign of the annoying little critter.

"You thought...?" Loki's prompting voice dripped with disdain.

Tony cast a last glance out of the window before turning to face the trickster more fully. "Never mind." Though the inside of the ticket station was dim, Tony had no trouble making out Loki's frame and features. Hell, Loki was so pale that he practically_ glowed_.

As Tony watched, the slightly puzzled expression on Loki's features lapsed into understanding, and he sighed and rolled his eyes skyward. _"Honestly,_ Stark. Why would I use a spell that would affect my own essence as well?"

Huh. That kind of made sense. "Alright, but you've got to fix it now-"

"Must I?" Loki's voice held vague amusement, and his eyes glittered in the gloom.

"Yeah, you must. People are going to start killing one another and trampling each other-"

"That is not my concern." Loki's expression of calm amusement didn't flicker as Tony took a threatening step forward.

"Not your concern? Playing hide-and-seek is one thing, Loki, but you've put people-" Tony stopped himself, realizing that he was about to stupidly say,_ put people in danger_, to which Loki would respond with a heartfelt _duh_, or whatever the Asgardian equivalent was. "You need-"

"I need to, I've got to... Such Midgardian expressions. Stark, have you neglected to think of the Challenge? Have you forgotten why you were brought here in the first place?"

Tony thought back to the clue, and his mouth went dry._ Restore them to their previous states._ He swallowed, trying to think. "But you're a player, too. That means that you have to solve it just as much as I do, so-" there was an inhuman scream from beyond the walls of the ticket station, and Tony flinched, "-so _solve it_ already!"

Loki raised an eyebrow. "Your logic would be sound in any other instance. However, I did not go through the trouble to devise and execute a Challenge such as this only to undo my work at a simple command from _you_. This Challenge states that you must counteract the spell that I, as Master of the Game, placed on the beasts and men. I will consider it a victory on your behalf if you are able to reverse the curse on your own-" (Tony didn't think that this was very likely. Loki didn't either, from the smirk on his face) "-or if your are able to force me to reverse it."

Tony stared at him, wondering how in hell he was going to do that. "And... how do you win?"

Loki's head tilted. The motion cast oddly familiar shadows across Loki's cheek and eyes (just like in the basement of the Tower, Tony remembered with a start). "I win when you yield. When you give up."

"I don't give up."

"We shall test that theory."

At his sides, Tony's hands were slowly clenching into fists. He had the eerie feeling that Loki could see straight through the metal face-plate; but no, that was absurd. Still, he felt exposed as he evaluated Loki from a battle-perspective. Though he wore his armor, the trickster was awfully relaxed. At ease, even. Tony could see no knives or other weapons, but that meant nothing against Loki.

Then he recalled something.

"So, what now? This is a Juncture, which means that I can't force you to do anything, and I'm _certainly_ not about to let you waltz off into the sunset after your hocus-pocus act out there." Tony was poised to reengage the radio and call the others to fight for him, but Loki's words stopped him cold.

"Tell me, Stark... is today Sunday?" The easy, idle tone remained, but something dangerous was stirring in Loki's eyes.

"Er... no."

"Did you clasp your Gauntlet to summon me here?"

"That would be a 'no' again." Tony felt that he should be remembering something right about then, but all he could think about was how loud his own heart sounded in his ears alongside Loki's resonating words.

"Then what has led you to believe that this is a Juncture?"

Loki's foot smashed into Tony's armor, and he went flying through the wall with a strangled yell.

The holographic chest plate on the mask's screen blinked red, and Tony pushed himself to his feet with a groan. Even through the bulk of the metal, he'd felt that hit.

He patched into the Avengers' radio as Loki followed him from the broken building, brushing some dust from his shoulder. "This is Tony. Loki is by the gate on Southern Boulevard, repeat-"

Instead of repeating, he ducked another kick and aimed a blaster at Loki, but the god darted towards him, diverting the blast into what was left of the ticket station. Tony's head snapped back as Loki delivered a swift jab to his jaw, then another to his neck, causing something in the armor to crack. Tony grabbed at him, but the trickster flipped away, propelling himself from Tony with a kick to the armor over his stomach.

More armor-panels blinked red on Tony's monitors, and he had a feeling that he would be totally down for the count if he was armor-less. As it was, he fired two rapid shots that Loki deflected with handfuls of green magic.

Tony tried calling the team again as he rushed Loki, blasters raised. "Oy, I could really use a hand here- _oof!_" Loki got in a solid hit to Tony's side, but he retaliated with a jab to the god's jaw. "I'm by Southern Boulevard-" Loki's elbow smashed into his face panel, denting it slightly and sending Tony staggering back a few feet. He recovered in time to hear the Captain's reply and block two lightning-fast kicks to his face.

"We kind of figured it out, Stark," The Captain's voice emanated from Tony's in-helmet speakers, but Tony could already see his blue-clad figure racing towards them, Clint at his side.

"Fantastic." He went in for a body-shot, but Loki grasped the arm and vaulted over Tony's shoulders. A shriek sounded behind them, and Tony whirled to see Natasha clutching her bleeding face and snarling at Loki. The knife in his hand dripped crimson.

But he suddenly hissed and ducked, putting a hand to a fresh gouge in his armor from an arrow that disappeared into the leopard's cage.

Tony turned, thankful to see Clint notching another a few dozen yards away and the Captain running ahead, shield raised. He back to Loki and fired a pulse, but the god dodged it easily and lashed out at Natasha in the same motion. Despite the approaching teammates, he didn't seem particularly worried. Instead, he swiped and kicked at the assassin, who responded in kind until the two of them nearly blurred. Tony's blasters were still raised, but he held off, wary of hitting Natasha by mistake.

Thor's booming voice sounded above them. "Brother!" he bellowed, landing heavily a few feet away. "Stop this-"

Loki whipped around and hurled a bolt of green energy. It smashed into Thor's face and drove him to his knees, drawing a gasp from Natasha and a horrified shout from Tony.

He darted forward to help, but he staggered back just as quickly as Thor let out an inhuman roar that made the hairs on the back of Tony's neck stand up. He sent Loki a look, but the satisfaction on his pale features made no sense. _Had he just killed Thor?_

But no- Thor was getting to his feet again. Only...

The Asgardian armor split and shattered as his body swelled, growing dark with hair as the muscles roiled and shifted. There was a gruesome grating sound, and after a second, Tony realized that it was Thor's bones. His face elongated and broadened impossibly as his shoulders hunched horribly and expanded. Tony thought he might puke at the sheer horror that he was witnessing.

The bear let out another frenzied roar as the Avengers stood frozen. Smiling delightedly, Loki gave them no time to recover before turning and firing another shot, this time at Natasha.

She was sluggish in her disbelief, and could only raise an arm against the attack. The magic knocked her flat, and she began the transformation as well, arching and making a low sound of agony.

Tony took flight and charged as Loki aimed at a stock-still Steve, forcing the trickster to go on the defensive instead. The force field that Loki conjured made Tony's ears pop as he was thrust away, and his leg felt slightly fried where the armor had grazed the magic sphere.

"Move your ass, Cap," Tony shouted, prepping his flares. Loki hurled a knife that Clint dove to avoid, and Rogers finally sprang back into action, throwing his shield at Loki's face.

Loki snatched it out of the air and blocked three of Clint's arrows with it before tossing the shield into the Captain's stomach. He then delivered another green blast into Steve's shocked face.

Tony was reeling as he deployed the flares and sent pulse after pulse towards Loki. Three Avengers down in thirty seconds. They were so screwed.

Loki was dancing out of the way of a relentless stream of Clint's arrows, each one embedding itself in the walkway between exhibits. A few of them detonated, sending concrete chunks everywhere and dust billowing upwards. Clint's face was enraged and crumpled in concentration.

Tony was almost surprised when one of his blasts caught Loki in the shoulder, but he soon saw why the god was distracted: a tigress was stalking him clumsily from his other side, boxing him in between Clint and Tony. The Thor-bear was struggling to get to its feet a few yards away, looking dazed.

_Ruff!_

Everyone, even Loki, turned and stared. A golden retriever was crouching near one of the post-arrow craters. Its coat was shabby from dust, and it was growling like a piteous puppy and barking occasionally.

_Ruff!_

"That might just be the saddest thing I've ever seen," Tony said seriously, and Clint snorted before taking aim again.

His target was abruptly removed when Furry came streaking out of nowhere and pounced, taking Loki down with a bone-rattling roar. The trickster was down for a brief moment before he vanished, reappearing a few dozen feet away, near the squalling animals.

"I believe that I have done sufficient work for today. I await out next encounter with much antici-" He side-stepped an arrow, looking peeved, before generating a wave of magic that Tony soared and Clint dove to avoid. Loki then vanished altogether with a complex gesture that probably meant something insulting.

Tony landed beside Clint, who was slowly lowering his bow. A ways away, the tigress was attempting to fold herself into a seated position, and the grizzly was trying to pick up Mjölnir with its teeth. The retriever had curled up morosely with its head resting on the star-spangled shield. Furry was sitting with his great, hairy head bowed, looking at the place where Loki had been moments before. Around them, animals were starting to come out of hiding- from behind benches, trees, shrubs, even one another.

Tony and Clint exchanged a look. "... the fuck are we supposed to do now?" Clint grumbled, looking murderous.

* * *

Eventually, they'd worked their way through enough people to get to Hill at S.H.I.E.L.D. and explained what had gone down. She'd sent every agent that they could spare, including Coulson. He listened to their story with a straight enough face, but Tony suspected that he hadn't actually believed them until he'd come face-to-face with Furry (the lion's roar and glare had left little to chance). Every single living thing inside the zoo had been transported to a nearby facility, though Tony suspected that they were ill-equipped to handle such a massive influx of people and animals. At least, he_ thought_ that was why he and Clint were sent home with a tiger and a bear (the lion stayed with Coulson).

The problem was that they were only leaving with ... a tiger and a bear.

"Where's Rogers?" Tony asked Coulson, struggling to keep a firm hold on Natasha's restraint. She kept twisting and trying to gnaw through the reinforced nylon.

"Captain America?" The agent looked around unhappily as though he was searching the milling crowd of agents for the missing Avenger. "I thought he was avoiding me. He still hasn't signed my cards..."

"Signed your-?" Tony's heart failed, just a little bit. "Didn't anyone grab the golden retriever?"

Coulson frowned, then blanched. "Oh."

"What? What 'oh'?" Tony felt his frayed nerves pull taut.

"...We thought that it... that_ he_... belonged to..." Coulson put a hand to his forehead, attempting to remain calm.

Tony stared a moment longer before realizing. "Oh, God. You gave him to someone, didn't you?"

Coulson straightened defensively, aplomb restored. "I was quite busy, Stark, and the child seemed to be very attached to him." Clint and Tony exchanged dumbstruck glances. "We have an epidemic of sorts going on, after all, and I didn't think and a... a_ retriever_ would take part in Loki's plans. But we'll find him." There was a terrible screeching sound, and a couple of the ring-tailed lemurs came leaping out of nowhere, making a beeline for the doors. "... After we contain those things."

* * *

The next day, there was still no sign of Steve. Tony hoped that Doctor Doom hadn't happened upon him or something, but, remarkably, he and Clint had bigger worries.

"What do bears eat?" Clint called over his shoulder from where he'd wedged himself halfway inside the fridge.

"How should I know? Bugs and stuff like that." Tony was nursing a cup of (Irish) coffee by the island counter. He was keeping an eye on the sweaty hunk of fur that was Thor. The thunder-god-turned-forest-behemoth had been asleep for thirteen hours before waking up and beginning to grumble hungrily in bear-language.

"Well that's fucking_ perfect_," Clint slammed the door to the fridge, drawing a cacophonous rattle from whatever remained inside. Tony just passed him the whiskey and hoped that nothing was broken.

The archer was in a foul mood. He'd always been sore about what had happened with Loki's mind control in the Avengers' early days, and any mention of the god was usually enough to make him lose his smile, but any actual contact with Loki did significantly more than just ruffle his feathers. After hearing that Loki had landed on earth, he'd joined Tony in drinking until he could (almost) forget that the man who had enslaved him had returned to their city for round two. It was no surprise that he'd swallowed as much scotch as he could after Loki's resurfacing (in their_ living room_, mind you). He was sure that they would be doing the same had Coulson not forbidden them from doing so. (Not that they were going to listen_ too_ well...)

Besides, this time had been different: Loki had taken them all on at once and had done serious damage to the team before skipping town. Tony could tell that Clint was twitchier than usual from the way he'd stuffed extra arrows into his quiver and the way his eyes slipped to the darkened corners of the massive room.

But Clint didn't like it when anybody tried to read into those kinds of things. Tony dropped his eyes and asked, "JARVIS? Bear chow?"

_Grizzly bears eat grasses, berries, tubers, and other small vegetarian items in addition to carrion, salmon, elk, mountain goats-_

An image of Loki's helmet rose to the forefront of Tony's mind, and he snorted.

_-moose, and, occasionally, black bears._

"We'll stick with berries," Clint muttered as he returned to the refrigerator and pulled out a plastic tub of strawberries, setting them down in front of Thor. He lowered his big, hairy head and started scarfing them down.

"That's a shame," Tony mumbled into his coffee. "It's been ages since I've had a good hunk of elk."

"I'm sure Tasha would share her venison if you asked nicely," the archer offered in a sardonic tone. Tony went vaguely green and pointedly looked in the opposite direction of where Natasha was chowing down on a raw deer leg on the patio outside (courtesy of the freezers at the zoo).

"I'm good." Tony scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand - he'd gotten about two hours of sleep thinking about Loki's Challenge - and then quickly lowered his hand and pushed his sleeve down to cover the gauntlet. For a moment, it had been gleaming openly on his wrist.

"Did you see the papers?" Clint took a seat opposite Tony and snatched up the whiskey for his coffee. Tony shook his head, and the archer grimaced. "It's not pretty. There are a bunch of pictures, and even though none of 'em are too clear, there's still a shit-ton of theories rolling around. S.H.I.E.L.D. probably edited out any articles involving Loki, but that still leaves aliens, HYDRA, Doom... I'm telling you, Tony, we're in over our fucking heads here. We need to hunt Loki down and force the little bastard to undo it, but..." Clint grimaced and took a gulp of straight whiskey. "He could be in fucking_ Munchkinland_ right now for all we know."

Tony's wrist felt heavier than usual with the gauntlet's weight. All he had to do was wrap his hand around it, and Loki would be summoned to him (at least, he was _pretty_ sure that it worked that way...). He downed most of his coffee and muttered something about munchkin goats that made Clint snort a little before standing and stretching. He had an idea.

"Keep an eye on Smokey the Bear over there, 'kay? I'm going to try to figure out a countercurse."

Clint choked on a mouthful of coffee. "You're-?"

"Thor keeps a bunch of Loki's old books in his room," Tony explained, snagging the whiskey on his way to the elevator. "If JARVIS can crack the code, maybe we can figure out a way to counteract..." He trailed off and rubbed his eyes again. "Oh, fuck it, I'm going to sleep. Then I'm probably going to stare at the books for as long as it takes for Loki to show up with a ransom demand." At Clint's noise of confusion, Tony responded, "You said it- we can't do this without him, and he knows it. He's just watching us squirm and waiting for us to crack."

(Waiting for _me_ to crack, he thought to himself.)

It was as close an explanation as he could give to Clint, who didn't seem too reassured. "Right. Well... try to rest. I'll come and get you after a few hours to put you on pet-sitting duty." A few feet away, Thor grumbled at the implication. Clint ignored him.

"Gotcha. No cold water, right?"

"I make no promises," Clint called as the elevator doors closed.

* * *

Tony turned the pages with an idle hand as he skimmed through a gigantic book bound in age-wizened leather. He was mostly examining the few pictures that he could find. His eyes had glazed over long ago, a bi-product of too little sleep and too much stress (and too little alcohol).

He paused over a hand-drawn picture of the dissection of a three-eyed guppy. Tony squinted at it for a few moments before shuddering and moving on.

A whole two and a half days had passed since what he and Clint had taken to calling "the Zoo Fiasco." Tony had been in contact with Coulson once, who had told him very curtly that there was no change in the victims before hanging up. Tony had broken into Thor's quarters and had taken the books to his own room. There, he had begun to skim them, looking for anything that could relate to the shape-reversal spell.

It was hopeless to look at the words, of course, but the pictures were drawn in great detail (sometimes _too_ great, like in the case of an illustration of a ritual disemboweling that Tony would never forget). Tony had crossed his fingers that he would find a nice, handy diagram showing how to reverse it.

(Yeah,_ right._)

Tony paused to stare at the writing again. He'd caught himself doing it a couple times, but it was just so..._ odd._ He'd asked JARVIS to scan it to see if it existed on earth, but there had been no results. The words themselves looked like a cross between cursive, Arabic, and minuscule drawings of leaves or flowers, There was one word that he could've sword was a segment of ivy, but a botany search had turned up empty as well. Still... he traced a willow-like word with a hesitant finger before lifting his other arm to compare it to the runes on his wrist. If he looked closely, he could see similarities between some of the runes and some of the magic-script on the pages before him.

Well, if nothing else, he knew why Loki's handwriting was so elegant. Writing like this would improve anyone's penmanship.

But there had been no new examples of said penmanship in the Book of the Game, and Tony didn't dare to instigate a conversation. He'd considered it, but he couldn't think of anything to say other than, "how do I fix this?" and Loki would certainly take something like that as a surrender.

But what other choice did he have? Tony turned the page, only to slam the book shut in frustration when he came across yet another chart of the moons' phases (moons, plural). He rubbed his temple and reached down to grope in his sock for his flask, but it was still in Thor's room.

Tony tossed his head back and looked at the dusky ceiling. Why was he even trying? There was no way that he could figure it out on his own, and no way for him to track down Loki to force the answer out of him-_ if_ he could force the answer out of him.

The answer came to him reluctantly, and his heart rate spiked. "JARVIS... lock the door, please."

_Very well, Sir._

Tony considered going downstairs to get his armor, but it wasn't like they could hurt one another during the "truce." Instead, he put his back against the wall and tried to breathe.

Then he wrapped his hand around the gauntlet.

There was nothing at first; Tony's muscles relaxed a bit as he wondered if he'd done it wrong.

But a blaze of unfamiliar gold fire dashed that hope. The flames quickly died down to nothing, leaving a bright shadow on Tony's corneas.

Loki straightened and brushed something from the front of his spotless armor, glancing around the dim room. "Your quarters, I presume? How nice."

Tony unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth. What was this, a bit of small talk before he doomed himself even more than he already had? "You don't remember? You dropped the book off on my pillow."

"I did no such thing. The Book of the Game appeared where you were most likely to discover it after I issued the invitation to engage in the Game."

Loki's hands were clasped behind his back, and he looked oddly at ease and out of place in the middle of Tony's bedroom. (But then again, Tony had never seen him look ill at ease, even when he'd been cornered by the Avengers in Stark Tower. Even when Fury had been threatening him in the Hulk's cage.)

"But we squander our time," Loki said softly. "I assume you called me here for a reason?"

He knew the reason- Tony could see it in the set of his mouth, the gleam in his emerald eyes. He just wanted to hear Tony say it.

So he did.

"I... I give up. You win this one."

* * *

**Hehehe- Loki'd. *snickers***

**I hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!**

**Any and all reviews are always welcomed with open (occasionally overeager) arms! I appreciate your feedback and kindness so much!**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep**


	15. Chapter 15

**I apologize for the delay- I couldn't bear to chop this one in half, but I couldn't pick a place to stop... So it's long, as a reward for your patience. *grins***

**I have to thank you all for your MARVELOUS reviews- they are absolutely amazing and inspiring, and I'm so grateful to you all!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Warning: Swearwords.**

* * *

Tony held his breath as a smile curled its way across Loki's face. He half-expected the god to burst into maniacal laughter, but he only nodded once.

"Very good. Do you wish to discuss my recompense at present, or after I have righted the mortals that you have so gallantly sacrificed yourself to save?"

Tony was pretty sure that "discuss" was Asgardian for "listen meekly to," but he still said, "After. Definitely after."

"As you wish." Loki extended a hand, his expression expectant. Tony stared at the offered limb, wondering if there was a dagger up his sleeve or something similar. Loki sighed. "This is the Juncture immediately following the Challenge and the Juncture of your concession. If we part ways, I shall lose the right to my appeasement."

Tony drew back slightly, his shoulder blades pressing firmly against the wall. "What do you mean, part ways? Can't you just...?" He made a fluttery gesture with both hands.

Across the room, a black eyebrow rose. "I must be within the immediate vicinity of the victims in question." At Tony's continued hesitation, he dropped his hand and crossed his arms in irritation. "You fix automobiles and other devices, correct? Are you able to fix them when you have distanced yourself from them?"

Well, when he put it that way... but still, were they going to fly out the window or something? "I thought you could do long-distance hexes and stuff."

"Only if I have sufficient time, energy, and materials. Reversing the curse on a handful of creatures from a distance would require the same energy as reversing them all at once from within shouting distance of them." He offered his hand again, and after a hesitation, Tony stepped forward and took it. Loki's hand was cool and slender beside Tony's rougher, tanned skin, but his grip was stronger than Tony had expected.

"Wait, wait-" He remembered suddenly, hastening even though Loki had shown no signs of leaving quite yet. "Natasha and Thor are here, not at the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility! And- oh, God, no one even _knows_ where Rogers is."

Loki's brow furrowed. "The burst of magic should have enough ripples to counteract the spell here. And Captain America as well, assuming he is within its range."

"What if he's not?" Tony pictured the Captain living as a dog for the rest of his life and shuddered. There was no answer, and when he looked up, Loki had an odd expression on his face.

"Stark... kindly revisit the Rules of the Game and the Laws of Juncture prior to the next Challenge. I will not always be so understanding." Tony frowned. Had he done something wrong? He was about to ask when Loki continued, "If the Captain does not return within a few hours of the reversal, I shall seek him out and set him right. Additionally, should the magic not reach your... _headquarters_ here, I shall revisit my... revisit Thor and the Black Widow at my earliest convenience."

At his earliest convenience. How Victorian. "Fine. Let's get out of here so you can get on with your stupid demands already. I'm nearly wetting myself in anticipation."

"Do refrain." Loki's hand tightened on Tony's, reminding the billionaire of its presence -

- and then they teleported.

It wasn't like being squeezed to death, like in Harry Potter- rather, Tony had a brief sensation of terrifying nothingness in each of his senses- black vision, gauze in his ears, no smells or tastes, nothing tangible except for the death-grip he had on Loki's hand.

Then he arrived in one of the great white hallways of the S.H.I.E.L.D. base, and Tony slumped forward, boneless, onto Loki. His ears rang and his vision flipped and whirled and shimmied as though he had just downed a few quarts of pure vodka all on his own and then spun in circles for a half-hour. He tried to stand, only to have his leg slide out sharply from under him.

Someone cursed in a ferocious whisper in his ear, and strong arms heaved him upright and pushed him up against a wall. "Breathe, Stark. I haven't invested all of this time and effort into this Game only to have you perish from a bit of quick travel. Tony's eyes struggled to focus on the three growling Lokis in front of him. They all gave him a firm shake, and his head struck the wall once. "We have little time, Stark, too little for you to have a proper recovery. Do you hear what I am saying? You must-"

Loki's three heads whipped towards something out of Tony's tilting line of vision, and the Asgardians' mouths twisted in displeasure.

Tony found himself seated on the ground, tailbone smarting as he watched Loki dart away. He tried to push himself up with his hands, but they skittered out from under him. He somehow ended up sprawled onto his side, watching the hallway tilt and roll like the inside of a dryer.

_So,_ he thought to himself as nausea tickled the back of his throat unpleasantly. _That's what teleporting is like._

Loki's form suddenly joined the walls and floor in Tony's somersaulting vision. "More guards are approaching from the eastern stairwell. I need you to stand and run."

"Yeah, I'll get right on that," Tony muttered, flopping unhelpfully on the floor. He stopped when a fourth Loki began to emerge from the preexisting three.

"Oh, for Odin's _sake,_" Loki snarled, slapping a hand to Tony's forehead. Tony yelped at the jarring contact, but his vision righted itself with a palpable snap, and his nausea vanished. "Now, get _up_," Loki snapped. Tony clambered to his feet, only swaying slightly. For the first time, he noticed the scrape on Loki's chin and the pile-up of S.H.I.E.L.D. guards a little ways down the hall.

"_Move_."

"Okay, okay," Tony found his hand snatched up by Loki. His stomach clenched in fear of another teleportation, but the trickster only proceeded to pull him down the hall, guiding him into sharp turns and twists.

"I should not have wasted magic on you," he heard Loki say angrily. "This will be taxing enough without additional problems to solve."

"Sorry for not being used to_ teleportation_. I'm still waiting on my admission letter from Star Trek University," Tony grumbled. Something black and shiny caught his eye, and he stumbled. Loki dragged him along relentlessly. "Was that a camera?" He caught sight of another one. "Oh, _shit_, that was a camera-"

"Yes, that _was_ a camera. If you are concerned about being implicated in a crime with me, you needn't fret. The residual magic will cause all sorts of abnormalities in the technology." Tony could've sworn he'd heard a smugness in the god's voice.

"How do _you_ know what a camera is?" Tony wondered out loud as they whipped around another corner. "And where are we going?"

"I have been on for nearly six Midgardian months. It is ample time to learn many things. As for our destined location, we shall aim for the middle of the building while avoiding the guards to the best of our abilities. Now," Loki whirled, grabbed Tony by his shoulders, and pushed him hard against the wall. The god drew closer, leaning over him a little (had he always been that_ tall?_), and Tony flinched, expecting a blow or a knife to the face.

Loki's eyes were serious. "Of what substance is Captain Rogers' shield?"

Tony blinked and said, "What?"

Only, he didn't. There was a flutter of magic in his mouth, as though he was trying to eat a bird, and what came out was: "Vibranium."

He jerked a hand to his face to pull whatever the hell is was out from between his jaws (and if that meant his _tongue_, then so be it), but Loki batted his hand away, an interested look on his face. "Vibranuim. I have never encountered the word before. What are the characteristics and abilities of 'vibranium'?"

Again, the feathers stroked his tongue and teeth and he heard himself saying, "It's a rare compound found in Wakanda, and occasionally in Antarctica. It absorbs the vibrations and kinetic energy that it is struck by, and it becomes more powerful with every strike that it takes. The limits for its acceptance of force are unknown."

"Can it be destroyed?" Loki asked. His voice was quiet, and calm, almost patronizing, but his eyed burned with a thirst for this knowledge.

"Only if a terrific amount of force is applied to it, or if it acquires a sub-molecular flaw on its own." Tony shoved Loki away and forced a hand into his mouth, but he couldn't feel anything unnatural. "What the_ fuck_ was-_ mmph?_"

Despite their earlier jog, Loki's hand was chilled against Tony's mouth. The god's face was alarmingly close to Tony's, and he could see every detail in the bone-white skin. Green eyes glared. "I am trying to instill a lesson in you, Stark," Loki breathed tersely. "This is a Juncture, however informal it may appear. Things must be given and taken in equal measure. For every question you ask that I answer correctly, you are indebted to me an answer in turn. I have been generous in ignoring your earlier slights, but your incessant chatter has become-"

"There he is!"

Both of their heads whipped around towards the cluster of guards, Loki's fingers still wrapped around Tony's face. Inspiration struck him, and he pushed the hand away before yelling "_Help!_" at the top of his lungs. Loki spat something that was probably a swearword and sent a wave of magic towards the guards, flattening them like bowling pins.

"Why did you do that?" Loki hissed, turning back to Tony.

"I just un-implicated myself. Why are you playing this game with me?" Lesson learned, jackass.

Loki recoiled, a look of shocked rage on his features. His mouth contorted as the magic forced him to speak. "Because... I was bored." He paused, looking pained (although, that had really been what Tony had expected). "And because I find you fascinating."

Tony stepped back, confused. "You find me_ fascinating?_ Oh, shit-" Lesson un-learned.

"Yes, I do. What is that?" Loki pointed to the glowing circle in the front of Tony's Metallica T-shirt.

"It's a miniaturized arc reactor. _Damn,_ that's uncomfortable," Tony made a face, resisting the urge to scrape the magic residue off of his taste buds. It had a vaguely cinnamon-like flavor, only... burned. The fact that he'd just admitted a decent amount of secret information didn't help remove any of the bitterness, either.

"Interesting." Loki smirked and took a step back, tugging his sleeves up. The dark metal of his gauntlet shone in the hall's lighting "I suggest that you hold on to my arm. The reversal spell should not affect you, but there could be... _complications_ at such close range."

"Right." Tony hesitantly reached forward and wrapped his hand around Loki's forearm. The skin was surprisingly soft, but there was no mistaking the muscles beneath it. "So..."

"Silence."

Right. Tony watched Loki's face carefully as the god's eyes closed and his brow creased slightly in concentration. There was a low rushing sound, and it took him a moment to see Loki's lips trembling with the speed of his whispering. Tony's arm was pulled sharply as Loki lifted his hands and began to form clouds of powdery green light with curling, flicking motions that made Tony vaguely dizzy after he'd been watching for a few seconds. It was spooky, seeing this. Loki's voice grew slightly in volume, and Tony felt himself becoming vaguely enraptured by the rise and fall of the silky words and harsh consonants. He found himself wishing that he spoke the language, wishing that he could understand the meaning behind the powerful syllables .

Then Loki crashed his hands together, and the milky green vapor exploded into a torrent of emerald energy. Tony could feel his clothes whipping in the wind that blasted the magic mist throughout the building.

Loki lowered his hands, pulling Tony's arm down with him. Tony glanced back at Loki's face, wondering if the god had gotten a bit paler. The look of disdain was as powerful as ever, though:

"You may release my arm."

"Right." Tony snatched his hand back. His palm tingled a bit where it had pressed against Loki's skin, and he rubbed at it anxiously. "So..." He struggled not to form a question. "That blast fixed everyone."

"It did."

"It even fixed Natasha and Thor."

"Indeed. Otherwise, you may use your Gauntlet to request my aid." There was a human-esque bellow from a floor or two below, and Loki's eyebrows rose. "It would seem that Nicholas Fury is displeased about something."

Tony shrugged. "You turned him into a lion. He probably wasn't too keen on that. Nor is anyone else, from the ruckus below..." He hadn't considered it, but he supposed that S.H.I.E.L.D. was about to have a lifetime supply of lawsuits and angry prisoners. Sucks for them. Tony crossed his arms, thinking about the magic. "There was no way that I could've done that on my own. Fixed them, I mean."

"It would have surprised me greatly, I assure you." Loki had clasped his hands behind his back, and Tony was having trouble not picturing a nasty dagger concealed in the god's fist.

"That's great. I really see how you decided to play fair." There was a tide of angry shouting rising beneath their feet, but Tony payed them no mind.

Loki shrugged a bit, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "It was not honorable, Stark, I admit that much. But there is something that I urgently need, and I could not chance a victory on your behalf. Now..." Loki straightened his already-prim shoulders into what Tony had come to recognize as "official mode." "I have upheld my responsibility in this Challenge. It is now your turn."

"Oh, that. I'm all out of gold doubloons..."

"I require my staff."

Tony stared. Dimly, he thought he could hear people running and shouting in the rooms below his feet, but all he could think of was the glowing-blue scepter that had killed so many innocent people. "Your..."

"Yes." Loki's gaze was firm and calm and the tiniest bit excited. "You have until the next Juncture to complete your task, or you may summon me upon obtaining it."

"Wait, hold on-" The green mist was beginning to emanate from Loki's skin, but it stopped once Tony spoke. "You've only given me until Sunday. That's ... that's only a day, today's _Saturday!_ And I need to get back to the Mansion!"

Loki tilted his head. "None of those things are my concern."

He vanished, and Tony cursed. He needed to get_ out_, pronto. And, apparently, figure out a way to get his hands on a weapon that was bound to be in the deepest recesses of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s high-security vaults. He patted his pockets before pulling out his cell phone with a relieved sigh. "JARVIS?"

_Yes, Sir?_ The automated voice sounded odd coming out of the speakers of Tony's phone, and he wondered if the magic had mucked with it.

"I need you to pinpoint my location and tell me how to get the hell out of this base. Also, use one of our easy-access routes into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s systems and find out where they're keeping Loki's spear-staff-thing." Tony heard voices echoing down the halls and started in the opposite direction. "And erase any footage of me from the security tapes."

_Certainly, Sir._

Tony held the phone to his ear as he jogged through the passages, waiting for JARVIS' intel. Early in his relationship with S.H.I.E.L.D., he had programmed JARVIS to find as many loopholes and sneaky back-doors as possible into the computer systems of the government operation (not that there had been too many. Maybe three or so). He hadn't rooted around to his heart's content (since they would probably noticed_ that_), but he had saved the shortcuts for a rainy day.

(Or, you know, a day when an intergalactic supervillain tricked him into getting an ultra-powerful magic death-stick.)

_Sir, I've found you a way out of the building..._

"Excellent, lead me to it-"

_...but you should know that Loki's spear is being stored in a chamber in the basement._

Tony almost stopped short, but he kept moving when he heard more footsteps behind him. "Are you screwing with me?"

_Not at all, Sir. Where shall I direct you?_

"That's great. Just fantastic," He muttered to himself. He had a choice- he could chase after the spear tonight, while the building was still in chaos, or he could get the hell out and return with plans and weapons.

He sighed. He'd never been one for planning ahead.

"Tell me how to get there, JARVIS. Tap into the cameras and try to get me a guard-free route."

_Sir... may I ask why we are breaking into a secure S.H.I.E.L.D. facility?_

"Explanations later. Mapquest now."

_As you wish, Sir. Take two lefts and an immediate right up ahead, and you will find yourself at the elevators..._

* * *

Tony slid along the wall of Basement 6, praying that these guards would be too distracted by the chaos on the radio to hear Tony's heart racing, his breath coming in quick gasps. He'd narrowly avoided people on three of the eight floors that he'd crossed, jamming the "close" button repeatedly each time. He was pretty sure he'd closed the door on Coulson at one point. Still, he'd made it in the end. Now it was just a matter of figuring out how to avoid the guards- there were no cameras in this part of the building, and JARVIS couldn't warn him of an agent's approach.

The basement itself was equipped with flickering lights and hallways with a light layer of dirt crusting the corners. It wasn't a place that would house a top-secret alien weapon. It wasn't even a place that anyone would suspect was hiding anything at all. (Except bodies. It was a basement, after all.)

But really, Tony had no trouble imagining Loki appearing in one of the rooms that branched off from the hallway, snatching up the spear, and vanishing with it. It seemed too easy.

Then he ran across the observation window.

It was massive, really. Tony peeked through the wire-enforced, bullet-proof window in the door and saw an expanse of glass overlooking a metal-lined room. Three doctors stood by the window, holding clipboards and pens that raced across the pages. A fourth doctor was inside the main room, wearing a gunmetal-grey safety suit and running what looked like a blowtorch's flame over the handle of Loki's staff.

The staff.

It looked as pristine and deadly as the first time Tony had seen it in Stuttgart, only this time, it was in a cage. The blue glow of the power core was fainter, but only slightly. Tony only recognized it because he'd gotten such a close look at it previously. It made sense, though- after all, the tesseract was galaxies away. Tony was surprised that its batteries weren't dead altogether.

"Hey! What are you doing here?"

Tony turned quickly to face the burly guard, aware that he still had a phone to his ear. He said quickly, "I'll call you back, James," and put it in his pocket.

"...Mr. Stark?" The man's hand was resting on his pistol, but he didn't seem overly eager to take it out. "Why are_ you_ down here?"

Tony made a desperate grab at controlling the situation. "Fury didn't tell you? He's bringing me in on the spear-project. I'm the energy guy, after all," He added a smile to the sentence, his heart pounding like a racehorse's hooves.

"He didn't tell me. Happy to have you on board!" The guard's answering smile was surprising, and Tony had to work to keep the confusion off of his face as he shook the man's hand. "My name's Scott. Ivan Scott. I'm a huge fan of yours, always have been. And I have an eight-year-old son who has one of your masks- you know, the plastic ones that they sell at Toys-R-Us?"

Ah. A fan. That explained it. Tony's smile weakened slightly as he realized how he was about to completely destroy this man's faith in him by stealing what he was assigned to protect. He felt rotten to the core.

"You sure picked a hell of a day to come, with all of the animals and people running around. Unnatural, that is." Ivan gave a theatrical shudder before looking to the door and back to Tony. "Well, you'll be needing to go on in, eh? Did Fury give you a pass yet?" At Tony's head-shake, the man chuckled. "Don't let it rankle you. The old boss didn't give me mine until my third week here, ask anybody."

Tony moved aside and let him scan his card, gaining entrance into the observation room. The doctors turned and evaluated him with varying levels of surprise and suspicion. He supposed that he didn't look too official in his band T-shirt and hole-ridden jeans. At least he had his reputation, right?

"Mr. Stark," one of them, an older gentleman-type, said slowly. "Is there something that we can do for you?"

"He's here to help with the project." Ivan clapped him on the back, beaming, before he turned and closed the door behind him. The click of the lock felt like a death sentence.

"Oh?" The older man straightened his glasses. The other two remained silent at his side- Tony supposed that he was their leader. "How peculiar. Director Fury neglected to mention it to me."

"He's been a little... under the weather, as I'm sure you know. Nothing like a good, old-fashioned lionization to make a guy tardy for work, right?" One of the other doctors snickered, and Tony's forced grin felt a tiny bit natural as he scanned the room. The walls were a pristine white, making them almost painful to look at. There was a door on the left that looked to be composed of the same grey metal of the room housing the spear. Tony's heart sank as he wondered how the hell he was going to get in there unarmed.

"Hm. Very well. I assume that you will be returning, in which case I'd rather you dressed more presentably. For now, you may share Doctor Sycar's notes. We are studying the effect of moderate to high-temperature flames on the staff itself, so I am not entirely sure why an energy expert would need to be present..." The doctor eyed Tony through his silver-rimmed glasses.

Tony did his best not to look guilty. "My expertise isn't limited to energy, Doctor...?"

"Rutherford. Timothy Rutherford." He shook Tony's offered hand before turning back to the glass. Despite the stressful situation, Tony took a moment to feel oddly snubbed. The doctor reminded him of someone... but that wasn't important. He needed to focus on getting into the chamber, where the fourth doctor was setting the blowtorch down and selecting a larger one from a tray of devices beside him (Or her. The biohazard suit wasn't terribly flattering either way...).

"Thus far, we have used a number of instruments to try to mar the surface of the metal. Nothing sharp or blunt has managed to harm it, not even diamond," Rutherford's voice held both interest and irritation. "We began studying the effects of heat a few days ago, and nothing has been able to cause damage to it so far."

"And we can't test samples until we get can get a piece of the thing," The red-haired doctor who'd laughed at Tony ducked his head at his superior's sharp look.

"Thank you, Anderson, for stating what any ten-year-old could deduce." Rutherford's tone made Tony flinch slightly. His father: that was who Rutherford reminded him of. Cold and condescending. "We have moved up to butane torches and are working our way up to an army-grade flame-thrower. Our job is to observe and take precise notes. If you were hoping for a bit of hands-on work today, I fear you will be sorely disappointed."

"Well, that's okay. I got a pretty close look at the thing back when Loki stormed the castle. I'm guessing you guys already checked the scratch just under the blade?" Tony's voice was nonchalant as three heads whipped towards him simultaneously.

"Scratch? There is no scratch. I've scoured the surface of the weapon hundreds of times and found no imperfections." Rutherford's eyes were narrow.

"Oh. Guess I was wrong then." Tony watched the proceedings in the other room for a well-calculated minute before bursting out, "But are you positive-?"

"Yes."

"I was so sure that I'd seen a scratch. I examined it at close range, too. Not through any glass suits or anything." Tony leaned against the window, squinting. "Just below the sharp part?"

"There is nothing there, Mr. Stark." Rutherford growled.

"Let him look," said the third doctor. She was small and mousy, with pale brown eyes and hair, and Tony had overlooked her up until now. At Rutherford's spluttering, she added, "All due respect, Dr. Rutherford, but we are entirely unprepared to deal with this weapon. If Mr. Stark has a new theory, I believe that he should have an opportunity to test it."

Rutherford's face had taken on an outraged shade of pink, but he set his jaw. Tony almost dared to hope as he watched the staring contest between the two. "As you wish, Dr. Sycar. Stark, you have a half-hour. Get suited up in there," the older man gestured towards he grey door, "And tell Dr. Camar that you will be relieving her temporarily."

Tony glanced through the observation window. "She can't hear us?"

"No, and we cannot hear her. Your half-hour began twenty seconds ago, Mr. Stark.""

* * *

A couple minutes later, Tony found himself staring down at Loki's staff. Phase one, complete.

This would be a wonderful development if he was not stuck there with absolutely no way to remove it.

Tony glanced at the window and back to the spear.

"Well, shit."

* * *

**Ehehehehe- did you all enjoy? I hope the bit with the questions wasn't too confusing. The law dictates that an answered question requires another answered question.**

****Important Updating Notice****

**After this weekend, I'll be immersed in a very big project for work. I'll do my best to write whenever I can, since it's all I _want_ to do, but this is a really important project, so there won't be daily updates. After that, though, there will be updates galore! I promise!**

**Thank you all once more for your patience and your reviews! They make my day when I need it most.**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep**


	16. Chapter 16

**Hello again, my dears!**

**Because my project has hit me sooner than I expected (I actually blew it off today to write this, so I'm already behind...), this will be the last update for a few days... *ducks rotten fruit* I'm sorry, I'm really sorry! (There would be more exclamation marks if FF .net allowed it!)**

**Disclaimer: Not mine!**

**Warning: Abundant swearing and just a _little_ bit of angst. Nothing too bad.**

* * *

Tony reached out hesitantly to touch the staff. He didn't know what he was expecting- maybe more tingles of magic, or an inexplicable warmth. But he couldn't feel anything through the protective material of the gloves.

He steadied himself, forcing his gaze away from the window. He picked up the staff carefully, with both hands, and a cold sweat blossomed on the back of his neck. Its weight was malevolent and promising, and for a moment, he considered leaving now and telling Loki to shove it. The destruction that the god would bring about couldn't possibly be worth...

...but it was. He'd done this much to protect his team, knowing that they would save more lives than Loki could destroy. (He hoped.)

Tony turned the spear over in his hands, flinching slightly at the light that flickered on the blade- he could perfectly recall the point of it at his chest, with only the arc reactor standing between him and Hawkeye's earlier fate. He tried to look as though he was peering at the side, looking for the scratch, but his mind raced.

He could call Loki. Simple as that, just clasp the gauntlet and it would be done. He wold say, "Here, now get the me fuck out." It would be easy.

But Tony was fairly sure that Loki detested "easy." Besides, there had to be a reason why Loki hadn't come down here himself to get it- maybe S.H.I.E.L.D. had figured out a way to keep Loki out of their hair, or maybe there was a curse on the staff or something similar. Whatever it was, he couldn't count on Loki to get him out.

Tony squinted at the staff, brainstorming.

He could play dead.

He could blast his way out with the scepter itself.

He could pretend to go insane (although, doing any of the above would probably count as that).

He could pretend to get a phone call from Fury, telling him to take the staff to the Mansion.

He could pretend-

Tony stopped, a tiny idea sprouting in his mind.

He could pretend to be _Loki._

He shook his head imperceptibly, thinking of the complexity. He would be pretending to be Loki pretending to be Tony- it sounded like a bad soap opera.

Tony lifted the spear and plastered a triumphant look onto his face, gaining a small satisfaction from the look of shock and disbelief on Rutherford's features. The doctor shoved his clipboard to the mousy woman and strode out of Tony's line of sight. Tony struggled to keep his features happy as he braced himself for what he was about to do.

Rutherford burst from the transition room in his ordinary lab gear, his face equally murderous and desperately hopeful. "Where? Show me!" The rest of the doctors trickled in after him, eyes wide.

"It's right here, like I said," Tony pointed to a spot below the spearhead.

And when Rutherford bent to examine it more closely, Tony apologized internally and cracked the staff against his head. The doctor crumpled, and one of the others shrieked.

Tony jabbed the spear at them, his heart pounding. "Do not try to fight or flee, mortals, or I shall deal thee a deathly strike! Kneel before me! Now!" He felt like an utter idiot and a horrible person all at once as the doctors' gazes turned fearful. They knelt, eyeing him warily.

"Right! Now... now... toss your... communications devices across the floor!" Tony hoped that Loki would know what a cell phone was as he crushed each one beneath his boot. None of them were Stark Tech- they wouldn't have broken so easily. "Move aside, mortals!" Had he already said mortals? Loki seemed to always emphasize that.

They shuffled to the side on their knees, and he did his best to sweep past them the way Loki always did before slamming the door shut and locking it behind him. He set the staff aside for the moments it took to remove the ugly grey gear. When he picked it up again, the metal was cool against his overheated skin. The pale blue glow was eerily close in color to that of the arc reactor. Tony forced himself to stop staring at the damn spear and focus on the task at hand. Namely, getting the hell out.

He grappled with his phone as he exited the lab, praying that he wouldn't run into Mr. Scott. He'd done enough damage for one-

"_Hey!_"

Tony whirled, raising the staff. There, at the end of the hallway, was Ivan Scott. His gun was level with Tony's chest. His eyes were practically popping out of his head. "Mr. Stark...? What are you-?"

"Wrong. I am not Tony Stark. I am Loki, God of Mischief, and if you have any sense at all, you will drop your weapon and kneel before me." Tony shifted his awkward, one-handed grip on the staff and tried to look menacing.

Ivan's arms trembled, but he didn't lower the gun. "L-Loki? I don't understand, you-"

Tony did his best impression of Loki's sneer as he lifted the spear. "Drop it."

Ivan swallowed and raised the gun a half-inch. Tony panicked, his hand going rigid on the grip of the spear-

The blast's recoil sent him reeling before he fell onto his back, blinking in confusion at the alarms that were sounding around him. He pushed himself up, scrabbling for his cell phone on the ground before shifting the spear to the arm that wasn't numb. He almost didn't look back as he headed for the elevator, but he caught a glimpse of Ivan lying on the ground as Tony scrambled to his feet and ran for the elevator. He felt sick, out of control, horror-struck.

He pressed his phone to his ringing ear in time to hear the tail end of JARVIS' statement:

_-seven or so approaching in the elevator._

"Guards? Guards approaching?" His tongue was still sluggish as his brain woke up and began to function more properly.

_Yes, Sir. At least seven in the elev-_

"I-I heard that much. Shit, shit, _shit._" Tony stood still for a precious moment before lurching towards the nearest door and forcing it open. It was empty- all of these rooms were empty, except for the one containing four scientists, one of whom was unconscious-

Tony shuddered, flinging the spear to the floor in disgust. He fumbled with his sleeve (there was no other fucking _way_) and summoned Loki.

The flare of gold light burned his eyes, but he couldn't look away. Loki glanced around, pushing a stray bit of hair out of his face as he frowned at the room. "So soon, St-"

Tony kicked the scepter at him, snarling, "There! Are you happy? _Are you?_ There's your fucking staff, you sadistic-"

Loki interrupted softly but firmly. "That is not my staff."

Tony's breathing was loud in the silence that followed. "What-what the fuck do you mean, _not your staff?_"

Voices exploded into the corridor outside, and Loki cast a sharp look towards the door that Tony had slumped against. "We must move elsewhere. Give me your hand."

Tony was still staring at Loki. It made no sense. "What do you mean, not your-?"

The doorknob beside him twitched and jiggled, and Loki dove forward with a curse to snatch the spear with one hand and Tony's wrist with the other as the door burst open from behind-

Blackness.

Then Tony was stagger-crawling into his bathroom and dry heaving into the toilet, coughing uncontrollably. His vision was doing that awful spinning thing again, and he clutched at the porcelain to keep himself upright as he gagged.

"You thought that I spoke of the Chitauri's weapon."

Tony scraped his hand along the back of his mouth and tried to stand, but the world was doing backflips around him and he almost toppled forward. Strong hands gripped his arms and pulled him out of the bathroom's blinding brightness and into the darker recesses of his room.

Tony swallowed painfully as Loki set him down on a long leather couch against the nearest wall. "Teleporting sucks ass," he mumbled instead of an answer, closing his eyes. He was too nauseous and exhausted to care that Loki sat beside him, a safe distance away.

"It becomes easier with time. It would be worse for you, seeing as you do not have magic in your blood. The displacement would be exceedingly disorienting."

"You're not telling me anything new here," Tony snapped, only to wince as his head throbbed. "Jeez, it's like having a hangover after being hit by a_ truck..._"

A cool hand was placed on his brow, startling his eyes open, and Tony sighed in relief as his vision righted itself. He glanced sideways at Loki, who was eyeing him wearily.

"Has it been assuaged?"

"...uh, yeah. It's better, if that's what you mean." Tony wondered if he was imagining the dark circles beneath Loki's eyes, or the dispassion in his stare. The god's lazy posture didn't look quite as natural or fluid as it usually did, either: it was more of a slumping that a sprawling. "You look beat."

"...I do not know why I would. I have not been defeated today."

"No, it means... tired. Worn out." Tony tried to summon a nasty thought towards the god, but he just looked so... un-Loki-like. He hadn't even healed the scrape on his chin from when he'd scuffled with the guards.

"I see." Loki looked away from Tony's gaze and pressed his fingertips to his temple as though he had a headache. "I have used magic unsparingly throughout the past few days."

Ah, yes. The huge transformation spell. (There was that unkind thought after all...)

A hint of brightness caught Tony's eye, and he turned to see the staff idling on his carpet. He quickly returned his gaze to Loki as he inadvertently thought of Ivan Scott's prone body. "What- I mean... I don't know what happens now.

The was small smile on Loki's face was almost _approving_ as he steepled his hands pensively. "However much I admire your earlier efforts, you have yet to fetch me my staff. The one with which I was raised." Tony made a small sound of discontent (would he have to go to _Asgard?_), but Loki went on, "Thor brought it to Midgard with him, along with my collection of books. The staff is in his quarters." Loki glanced towards the blue glow on the floor. "I did not suspect that you would assume differently."

Tony closed his eyes again, slightly hysterical laughter escaping his lips. "Of course. I should've known."

Then Loki sprang to his feet, looking around wildly at a sudden sound.

_Sir? Mr. Barton is on his way up to your room. It would seem that Thor and Ms. Romanoff have finally been restored to their natural forms._

"Where are you? Show yourself, coward!" Loki's eyes flitted from corner to corner, and he was rigid with tension.

"It's just JARVIS, okay? He can't hurt you. Calm down." Tony scrubbed his face with his hands. _Clint_. Wonderful.

Loki remained standing, his stance rich with tension. "I will leave you now, Stark. I do not wish to encounter Barton in my current state. Do not use your Gauntlet once you have attained the proper staff; I shall summon you tomorrow evening." At that, he bent to collect the spear.

"Hold on a second-" Tony got to his wobbly feet. "That's not the staff you asked for, so I'm keeping it. Also, I'd like a reason why I'm not allowed to call you."

Loki straightened, and Tony fought the urge to flinch from his image (he was horn-less, yes, but his armor, combined with the spear, led to an awfully familiar silhouette). "You offered it to me earlier, Stark, and I accepted it as a gift. I even repaid you," he waved a hand at Tony, who suddenly felt like an idiot- the healing, of course. "So I am fully entitled to-"

There was a loud banging on the main door, and Tony found himself facing empty air and a wisp of green smoke. He stared at it for a moment before snatching a lamp from the table and hurling it at the place where Loki had been. It didn't even have the good sense to shatter.

There was another furious round of knocking, and Tony swore excessively to himself before making his way across the room (stepping pointedly over the lamp) and opening the door. Clint nearly fell through in his excitement.

"Tony! They're back! Natasha and Thor are- shit, man, what happened to _you?_"

Tony blinked, trying to summon the energy to appear joyous, or happy, or even a little pleased. "I'm fine! Just, you know, books. Little print. They make my eyes hurt."

Clint peered at him oddly for a moment before continuing. "Anyway, they're human again! Stark-naked, too, but I can deal with that. Come on! Oh- grab some clothes first. When I said 'I can deal with that', I mean Natasha, not Thor."

Tony snorted and back inside to grab a robe that might fit. He passed his desk and his blood went cold- the book. _The_ book. It was sitting out in plain sight.

He ignored the desire to shove it under his shirt or onto the floor, knowing that it would only draw attention to it- but still, the entire room seemed to reek of deception. He breathed more easily once he closed the door behind him.

Once downstairs, he was greeted by a grumpy Thor and an even grumpier Natasha, who was picking at her teeth. She pulled the blanket more tightly around her shoulders, glaring. "Which of you is the genius that decided to give me raw meat?"

"I'm the genius. He's the one who gave you the meat," Tony tossed the robe to Thor, who was hiding himself behind a far-too-small tea towel. (Tony hadn't truly realized how many _muscles_ Thor had...)

"My head is aching fiercely," The thunder god rumbled. He looked haggard, with circles under his eyes and a tangled head of hair. Clint grabbed the Advil from the medicine cabinet and passed it around. (Nobody blinked when Tony popped two as well.)

"What happened?" Natasha asked. She looked almost as bad as Thor. "Why did we turn back?"

Clint shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe the voo-doo expired."

"Magic does not expire," Thor sat heavily on one of the stools near the counter, ripping a seam in Tony's robe. "Loki would have had to lift it himself." A look of puppy-like hope began to form on Thor's face. "Perhaps my brother has seen the error of his ways..."

Tony snorted, heading for the coffee, and Clint rolled his eyes.

Natasha looked around. "Where's Rogers?"

* * *

(Eleven miles away in the Bronx, two police were escorting a very naked Captain America away from an apartment complex where a mentally scarred family of three was trying to wrap their heads around their shape-shifting golden retriever.)

* * *

Tony shrugged. "No clue."

His pocket buzzed, and he allowed himself exactly one moment of crippling fear before answering, "You've reached the Exotic Animal Outreach Program. Please leave your name and species-"

"_Stark?_"

Tony worked to keep his smile wide as his heart stopped. "Furry! You're back!" Natasha gestured for him to hand her the phone, but he said, "I'm putting you on speaker. There are some cool cats here who'd like a word."

Natasha glowered at him before saying, "Director. Thor and I have just been returned to human form-"

"We'll talk in person, Agent Romanoff. I'm already on my way."

Around the room, brows crinkled. "But were you not an animal moments ago?" Thor asked.

"Moments-? Everyone at the base was turned back a half-hour ago!"

The Avengers exchanged baffled looks. "But that's not possib-"

"I'm fifteen minutes away (fucking traffic...). Nobody goes anywhere until I arrive."

The call ended. Nobody seemed to know quite what do do during the wait.

Thor cleared his throat. "Does this mean that I am not permitted to venture upstairs to clothe myself?"

* * *

Tony was seated happily on the couch when Fury came bursting through the door, overcoat billowing theatrically. Tony could make out the man's reflection in the night-darkened windows before he twisted around and gave the man his most convincing smile. "Glad to see you're back on two legs-"

"Stark. Where were you this evening?" Fury's stare was hard and cold.

"Here. Well, upstairs, technically-"

"Can anyone verify that?" Under other circumstances, the director's growl-esque voice would have been funny (considering that he'd been doing a lot of growling lately...). Right then, it really wasn't.

Clint spoke up in the suddenly tense silence that followed. "Tony didn't go anywhere, Director. He would've gone right past us."

"Is that so? I would've thought that Tony Stark would know all the best ways to get out of the Mansion. You spent a reasonable amount of time here as a child, after all."

Tony met the steely gaze reasonably well. "I was a little more concerned with building engines than playing Nancy Drew. What's this about, Fury?"

"You tell me." Fury produced a white folder from his coat and slapped it onto the end table by Tony's elbow. The rest of the team gathered around as he opened it.

There were still-shots from a security camera, terribly mangled by bad reception or other (more magical) issues. There was almost nothing that could be discerned apart from a tall figure with long, black hair and another with...

His mouth went dry.

...with a pale circle glowing through the fabric of his T-shirt. The T-shirt that he was still _wearing_. (Congratulations, Tony, you've just been implicated.)

Clint inched closer, exclaiming into Tony's ear, "Is that-?"

Tony glanced at Fury, who gestured that he look further. He turned the page with hands that shook (just a little). The next one was fuzzier, but with a better shot of Loki's stately profile. The next was the oddest of them all, picturing Loki's back as he leaned over a prone Tony.

He looked up as they reached the end of the file, aiming for Confused Face No. 3. "I don't understand..."

Fury crossed his arms and began to speak. "At approximately eight o'clock tonight, we had a security breach at the very heart of the building that we were using to house the victims of Loki's curse. A total of nine guards have been found on that floor, each one more banged-up than the last. Before we could respond properly to the sonofabitch, the building was thrown into chaos as the animals reverted back into their human forms and the humans turned into animals. As we reacted to this mess, someone who looked and acted a whole lot like Tony Stark went into a top-secret storage container and stole Loki's scepter-" someone gasped loudly, "-injuring two more people in the process."

"Injuring? Not killing?" Natasha asked the question, but it had been on Tony's tongue as well.

"Nobody died, for once." Tony almost died from sheer relief until Fury added, "It's miraculous. _Unbelievable_, even."

Tony was having trouble not throwing up on Fury's shoes. "And you think it was me? For the love of everything _alcoholic_, Fury, why would I steal the scepter?"

Fury stared harshly until Tony thought he would spring a leak from all of the pent-up tension. He opened his mouth-

_Sir? There is a policeman at the door._

Tony leaped to his feet and vaulted over the back of the couch, flying past Fury. "I'll get it!"

"_Stark_-"

But he had already made it to the door. Flinging it open, he found himself face-to face with a familiar dark-blue uniform, illuminated well under the Mansion's porch lights. Night had fallen on the city. "Officers! You have magnificent timing. What can I do for you?"

The two policemen parted, revealing a taller, blonder man in ill-fitting pink track clothes. "Does this one belong to you?"

Tony let loose a slightly wild laugh and said, "Good to see you, Captain."

* * *

**Heh. Yeah... This chapter got a little out of control in some places... *shrugs* I was listening to "Blood on the Pavement" while I wrote, which is really a darker song than fits this chapter... Anyway. Poor Tony- I bully him so much. But don't worry, things will get better for him. After all, there's Frostiron in his future! *twirls***

**Wish me luck on my project, and I'll update as soon as I can find the time!**

**I am eternally grateful to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, or alerted this story! You guys have a near-constant impact on my mood (a _positive_ impact!), and I couldn't do it without you all! Thank you so much!**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep**


	17. Chapter 17

**I'm back! *bows to raucous applause***

**And I'm really, really sorry about the wait! I finished the project yesterday and came home and said, "YES! Now I can _finally_ write the next chapter!" Then I fell asleep on my couch at six and woke up at seven- in the morning. I'd been staying up late every night this week, so... *shrugs apologetically***

**But hey, this one's _long_. Almost the longest chapter so far. I would normally chop it, but since it's been such a long time, I thought you guys had earned a little something extra. *grins***

**Also, a quick note: one very kind reviewer alerted me to the fact that I've been spelling Rogers wrong all this time! I was totally mortified, and I think I've changed them all back now. Moral of this story: please, please, _please_ let me know if you notice any errors like that!**

**Disclaimer: not mine!**

**Warning: lotsa swearing.**

**Onward!**

* * *

Thankfully, one of the arresting officers (a suspected Captain America fan) allowed Steve to go on his merry way with a warning (something along the lines of "Don't go creeping around people's apartments without clothes") and a fine for whatever petty law had been broken. Tony clapped him on the shoulder as he stormed in, but Steve didn't acknowledge him as he strode quickly through the hall that led to the living room, jaw tight. The pink track suit accentuated the slight, embarrassed flush on his cheeks.

Tony trotted along beside him. "Well, look what the cat dragged in! We've been expecting you, Lassie." The Captain only walked faster. Tony broke into a jog to keep up as they entered the main room. "Be honest- did you have any accidents? Best to come clean now-"

"Stark, sit down and shut up," Fury snapped from across the room. Steve took the opportunity to flee the scene, making it to his quarters in record time.

Tony lost his smile as he reluctantly inched his way to the L-couch. Fury's glare was on full-power, but Tony couldn't resist adding, "I just can't stop dogging him. It's a habit of mine."

Clint coughed, covering what Tony was sure was a laugh.

Fury didn't look quite so amused. "The next time you try to run off, I'll shoot you in the foot. Don't think I won't."

"I never said you wouldn't, Furry." Tony leaned back, crossing his arms. "Jeez. Why're you treating me like I'm a suspect?" Fury stayed silent, and his eye narrowed. Tony's stomach tightened. "I'm a _suspect?_"

"You're on the footage, Stark."

"But... but this is Loki. He's just doing this to fuck with our heads, you know that!" Tony looked from face to face. Clint and Natasha were expressionless, masking their thoughts. Fury raised an eyebrow. "Come on, guys, _me?_ A _suspect?_ That's such bullshit! Loki's out there with the staff right now, gallivanting around New York and plotting God-knows-what, and you're sitting here questioning me? _He's_ the maniac in this equation!" Thor opened his mouth, probably to defend Loki, but closed it again. Tony's heart was in his throat as he watched Fury's expression. Everything he'd said was true (almost), but the director didn't seem convinced.

"Is it so far-fetched to think you're involved?" Fury stepped closer, arms folded to mirror Tony's. "You've been acting more and more oddly for the past week. Then you show up on security footage practically arm-in-arm with Public Enemy Number One. Forgive me for drawing a connection."

Tony's fists clenched. He had to stay calm. "I didn't 'show up' with Loki. You're forgetting everything that Thor's told us- the bastard splits himself in two easier than breathing. He's fucking with us!"

"So you've said. But I don't think Loki's above a double-bluff. Allowing you to be seen would be obvious enough to let you off the hook; after all, why would we believe evidence that he's handed to us on a silver platter?"

"Maybe he doesn't know what cameras are."

"Then why would he create a Tony Stark 2.0 to tote around with him?"

Tony seriously considered shouting "fire" or "HYDRA" and fleeing to Malibu. "I don't know, dammit!"

Fury stared at him levelly. Tony tried to keep the tension from showing on his face with limited success. Then the director stated, "Fine. If you're innocent, then prove it."

Tony had a bad feeling about this. "How? I'll gladly pinky-swear, if that's what you want."

Fury wore an ominously smug expression on his face as he began. "You can cooperate. We'll move forward assuming that you've been compromised in some way. You'll extricate yourself from the situation, let us take it from here. You won't leave the Mansion under any circumstances, and you won't leave your room unaccompanied by another Avenger. To ensure the safety and security of the team, of course."

Tony stared in the silence that followed. "But... that sounds like house arrest."

"I won't put a monitoring anklet on you unless you do something even more stupid than usual," Fury said, shrugging. "Still, as you so forcefully pointed out, this is Loki that we're dealing with. If he's listening through you - sit down, Stark, I said _if_ - then we'll be at a serious disadvantage when we try to figure out how to deal with it."

His words were reasonable enough, but Fury's voice was laced with a satisfaction that Tony found incredibly aggravating. "So, what, you're putting me in time-out?"

"Better safe than sorry."

"It's really amazing, Fury, how full of shit you are. I'm not one of your agents- you can't just tell me to go sit in the corner and expect me to do it. You don't have the authority, no matter how all-powerful you think you are."

"You think I can't enforce this?" Fury gestured to where Natasha and Clint were standing shoulder-to-shoulder. "Two of my finest agents are living under your roof. You can argue against my authority all day, Stark, but I'll prove you wrong every time."

Tony gazed at the assassins for a bleak moment before returning his full attention to Fury. "I have a feeling I'll be the one proving you wrong this time." (Hopefully, anyway. The alternative was too bleak to contemplate.)

The director smiled, reminding Tony eerily of Loki. "I doubt it. For now, I'll need you to scamper off to your room."

"Hold on a second. Firstly, I haven't _agreed_ to this yet," he gave Fury a meaningful look, just so the director would know that he would be _agreeing_, not _yielding._ "Secondly, before you try to pack me up and shove me in the attic with the Christmas decoration, you might want to ask someone who actually knows Loki if this is something the little bastard would _do_. Thor?" Tony turned, hoping for another verse of "he's misunderstood!" or something like that.

The thunder god looked uncomfortable. "It is... not inconceivable."

Tony pressed a hand to his eyes and heaved a sigh. "Not what I was going for, Pooh."

Thor's brow crinkled. "What?"

Fury interrupted. "You'll either cooperate, or we'll force you to stay out of the way. You'd rather stay here than at our agency, correct?" Tony was silent, and Fury went on: "I'll take that as a yes. Let me be clear, Stark, that I am being generous. I am _allowing_ you to stay here. However, it will be expected that you do not partake in missions, and that you do not enter your lab at any time-"

"Oh, _fuck that_-"

"Stark." Fury entered Tony's personal space, making him recoil into the chair. "Imagine that Loki took you hostage and took your place here. Imagine that we were suspicious, but we still let him access your lab and fondle your suits and arc reactors- I would think that you'd be pretty pissed, seeing as you haven't even let S.H.I.E.L.D. peek at the schematics. Not to mention that Loki would have a tremendous advantage over you the next time you two fought."

"Fury has a point, Stark," Natasha said quietly. He glared at her, but she remained unapologetic.

"That means a lot, coming from you. I don't think your employer's going to give you a raise for agreeing with him." He turned back to Fury. "Yeah. It makes a strange sort of sense. That doesn't give you the right to dictate when and where I can go, and it _definitely_ doesn't give you the right to lock me out of my workshop. How the fuck would you even do that? Install more of your creepy-ass surveillance gear?"

"If we have to."

Anxiety took Tony's breath away. If Loki popped up on a security camera in the Mansion, it would be significantly harder to explain away. "That won't solve_ anything_-"

"Maybe it won't," Fury let out a terse breath and took a few steps away, shaking his head. "But we're wasting time arguing about it. Either get out, or I'll have Agent Romanoff escort you to one of our secure facilities."

Tony snorted bitterly. "Oh- you trust me enough to let me go to my room on my own? I'm flattered."

Fury's look was cold and lacking anything even _close_ to compassion. "Should I not?"

Tony's jaw tightened, and he looked around for some kind of support. Nobody was willing to meet his eyes. (Except for Natasha, who's steady gaze left little doubt in him that she would follow Fury's orders to the letter.)

He shoved himself out of his chair, anger and betrayal hot in his blood, and stalked over to the liqueur cabinet. He snatched two full bottles of scotch under the silent watch of the others and was halfway to the elevators before stopping. Knuckles white on the bottlenecks, he asked, "And how long will it last? One week? Two? Should I bother planning a Fourth-of-July bash, or should I just plan on stealing one of Captain America's suits to get in the patriotic mood?"

"It'll last as long as it has to, Stark." Fury's pose was official enough, his hands clasped behind his back and his feet a shoulder's width apart. Still, he oozed triumph.

Tony shook his head in disgust before hitting the button for the elevator with one of the bottles. As the doors opened, Steve exited his quarters wearing more appropriate clothing (ie: not pink).

"Alright, what do we know about- Tony, where are you going? Is that bourbon?"

"Scotch," he bit out, jamming the Close Doors button until Steve's confused face disappeared.

Then there was silence. Tony worked the cap up and upended the bottle into his mouth, almost choking on the liquid before he came up for air. He was too fucking tired for this.

_Sir, I do not advise that you attempt to drink both bottles alone-_

"Well, it's not like I've got an abundance of friends to help me with it," Tony snapped back. The ungrateful bastards. Didn't they know what he was doing for them?

No. Of course they didn't.

The doors opened, and Tony made a beeline for his room.

He got the door open and kicked it closed behind him, not caring if he damaged some of the circuitry in the frame. He flopped back onto his bed with a groan, but his mind was moving too rapidly. He was up again in seconds, pacing like a wind-up toy on crack.

Sure, it had to look bad from Fury's point of view- his construction-site mishap, his ditched press conference, and now this. But_ still._ He'd fooled the doctors with his Loki-act: why not Fury?

Because he's the fucking super-spy of the century, that's why. Tony pressed his hands to his eyes and reached for the open bottle, wishing he'd brought more alcohol with him. He was down to his last three bottles of scotch and a half-bottle of vodka that he had painstakingly hidden inside lamps and inside couch cushions (during their relationship, Pepper's raids were frequent, thorough, and unpredictable. His hoarding habit hadn't quite faded after their separation).

Tony looked around at his cozy chairs and smoldering fireplace. _House arrest._ He lashed out at a painting hanging above his dresser, leaving it swaying precariously on the wall.

What gave Fury the right? Tony wasn't a member of S.H.I.E.L.D., and he never would be. Why should he listen to the cyclops in his living room?

He considered flying to Malibu, but deep down he was certain that Fury would send a squadron of agents after him. And in the end, blasting through all the king's horses and men wouldn't make him look very trustworthy. He'd probably get something worse than house arrest as a punishment.

House arrest. _Fuck._

Tony had never been a big fan of being controlled, of letting his hand be forced, yet it seemed to be happening to him a lot in the last week.

If nothing else, at lease he still had access to Thor's room. It would be at least this way, he could figure out a way to get in and get the staff for Loki.

The_ other_ staff, that is. Tony's mouth twisted in bitter irritation. He forced himself to think of the staff, to be _productive_ instead of dwelling on the clump of self-serving traitors downstairs.

The staff.

The_ wrong fucking staff._ What had Loki said? Something about not knowing that Tony would suspect differently. As if that made it all better. Still, annoyances aside, he had a time constraint to contend with, as well as the unforeseen complication of, you know, not being able to leave his room without being "accompanied by another Avenger."

He glanced at the clock. Nine fifty-eight PM. So that's... how many hours until Loki called him? He'd said, what, evening? (Despite his affinity for words and inflection, Loki was terribly vague sometimes.) However long it was, Tony doubted that it was long enough. He should really be going to scope out the halls, checking to make sure that Thor was still downstairs (tonight might be his only chance to steal the right staff unhindered, before the team could arrange shifts or something). But he was too frustrated to do anything properly. Besides, Thor might notice, and if he did, he would tear the Mansion apart looking for it, and (since Tony wasn't allowed to call Loki) he would find it in Tony's room. It wouldn't do much in terms of proving his innocence.

But when else would he have the chance?

Tony scrubbed his hands across his cheeks, wincing at the stubble as he paced his way into the bathroom. The lights flicker on smoothly, and he eyed himself in the mirror. He didn't know what he was expecting to see. A mark or brand, maybe, something to showcase his involvement in this game? But no- that was around his wrist.

He held the gauntlet up, squinting at it, wishing that it could be something a little less noticeable. A ring, or a tie pin. It was miraculous enough that no one had seen it so far, but once summer hit, he would get some seriously funny looks if he wore nothing but long sleeves.

He met his own gaze in the mirror. As much as he wanted to curl up in a chair and guzzle scotch and mope about how much things_ sucked_ right now, the situation could be worse. Loki had healed him, what three times? Even though he suspected that Loki was only doing it to shut him up, it was still... healing. And you don't look a gift-goat in the mouth about something like that.

Tony peered more closely at his reflection. He wasn't glowing or anything, which was a relief, but it didn't mean that there would be no side-effects of the magic. He wouldn't start to worry until he started having insane urges to take over the world. Or, you know, play intergalactic hide-and-seek with an enemy like Doom.

He recalled the hectic exchange of answers in the S.H.I.E.L.D. corridor, and frowned at himself in the mirror. _Fascinating_, Loki had said. He thought Tony was_ fascinating._ What the hell did that mean? Fascinating like a specimen? Like a unique piece of artwork? That was all that Tony could fathom- it wasn't as though Loki saw humans as his equals, so anything beyond a new toy seemed like a reach. But why _him?_ Why not Steve, or Natasha, or Clint?

He sighed. If he wanted Loki to expand, he'd have to trick the trickster into asking another (answerable) question. Tony felt that he'd been lucky enough the first time- and besides, he probably should use the question to ask about nefarious plans, or something that could be used to win a challenge.

And he could start by figuring out how to get a hold of Loki's prize for this challenge. He didn't remember reading anything about losers failing to present the winner with whatever was asked for, but he doubted that it was good. Maybe he'd have to hand over Steve or something like that.

Tony snorted at the thought of offering Rogers to Loki. The god would probably spit on both of them (at the very least).

But the scepter would be a problem.

"JARVIS?"

_Sir?_

"Could you pull up the virtual blueprints for the second floor?" Tony splashed some water on his face before he grabbed his razor from the medicine cabinet behind the mirrors. He may have been confined to his room, but he'd be damned if he was going to look like it.

Transparent blueprints sprang up beside his elbow, and he examined them in the mirror. "Do a cursory scan for any people roaming the halls, then do an in-depth scan of Thor's room. If he's not in there, I mean. You remember last time, don't you?" Thor had demolished a decent chunk of the walls looking for the "sorcerer" who had created the blue illusions.

_Indeed I do, Sir. But is it entirely wise to breach Thor's privacy in such a way?_

"I'd feel guiltier if he'd stuck up for me back there." There was a pause before the blueprints blinked once, and a single orange silhouette appeared in a corner of the right wing.

_Initial scan complete. The floor is vacant aside from you, Sir. Initiating secondary scan._

"Terrific." As Tony ran the electric razor along, his cheek, he wondered if Loki shaved. The god's face always looked smoother than silk. Maybe it was a magic thing.

_Secondary scan complete. Are we looking for anything in particular, Sir?_

"Anything staff-like. You know, like a walking stick, only metal and taller. Maybe with something pointy at one end." Tony paused, razor whirring on his jaw. He didn't actually know what the staff looked like. He should've asked, consequences be damned. "Anything like that?"

_Regrettably not, Sir._

"Damn." He should've known that it would be more challenging. "What about a box, or a chest? Long and thin?"

_... There is a box of sorts fitting that description._

"Show me."

The blue walls of the recreation vanished, and a rectangular room expanded into full view. JARVIS highlighted a narrow, rough-looking container in bright orange. _Our scans cannot penbetrate the material of the box, Sir._

"That's unlucky. But promising." Tony eyed the glowing rectangle in the mirror. "What's the best way to get into that room?"

_Sir..._

"Don't take that tone with me. This is _necessary,_ JARVIS."

_Very well. The most logical point of entry is through the main door to Thor's quarters. However, if you would prefer a more subtle route...?_

"I would." Tony watched the diagram out of the corner of his eye as he trimmed the edges of his goatee.

_There is a side entrance through a small bathroom that is attached to the closet of guest room six. The guest room then leads to the pool hall, in which Thor is storing the box in question._

Tony's hand halted, the razor buzzing lowly on his cheek. " Thor's using the pool hall for _storage?_"

_It would seem so, Sir._

Tony splashed some water on his face and reached for his aftershave. "I'll be needing to have a talk with him about that. In the meantime, do me a favor and start rebooting the audio surveillance throughout the Mansion."

_Pardon my impudence, Sir, but did your initial statement upon discovering the devices not include phrases such as "invasion of privacy" and "totally not cool" and such?_

"That was when there were cameras, which are now at the bottom of the Hudson. Besides, Fury crossed a line today, cutting me out of the fold. I deserve to know what's going on, despite what they think." Tony eyed his reflection. Much better. He didn't look one bit like a prisoner in his own home. And even though he was, he would do his damnedest not to go down quietly.

_As you wish. Where shall the audio files be kept?_

"On my private drive. I want you to put all of them in the folder 'Spring Break 1987.' Make three copies of the preexisting material. Put each copy in a new folder and put equal protection on all three, the best we've got. Title them 'Jonah,' 'Goliath,' and 'Breakfast.'"

_Decoys? Very clever, Sir._

"No need for flattery, JARVIS." Tony scooped up the projection of Thor's quarters and ducked out of the bathroom, tossing the blue and orange virtual diagram at his tablet. It attached itself to the screen, spinning slightly from the momentum before coming to a complete stop. "I'm putting in an earpiece. Patch me into the conversation down below as soon as you get the system up and running."

Certainly.

Tony opened his desk drawers and rifled through the bits of wire and paper scraps that littered the bottom (he was sure that they'd been orderly at some point). As he found and inserted the little listening device, JARVIS spoke into his ear:

_Reboot of the audio systems is complete. Would you prefer to have background noise filtered or unfiltered?_

"Unfiltered is fine." Tony grabbed the tablet, eyeing the glowing-orange box in the tiny pool hall. "First, can you light up the second path you mentioned? Going in through the front door really isn't ideal."

_Certainly, Sir._

Tony watched as the obsolete rooms vanished and a yellow path snaked its way through the remaining halls, connecting Tony's glowing orange outline and the rectangular prism that he desperately needed.

"Okay. Let's march. Tune me into the living room."

The feed came to life without so much as a snap, crackle or pop from the earpiece. Tony loved Stark Tech.

Natasha's voice was the first that he heard: "Are we sure that Stark isn't better off in the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters? He has to know a million ways out of this house."

"He would never go willingly, and the last thing we need is a rogue Avenger. No matter how narcissistic and annoying he is-" Tony snorted as he closed his door behind him, turning right to get on the yellow brick road that JARVIS had mapped out for him. "-he's got enough resources and popularity that it would be disastrous if he turned against us. Right now, we've got him on a leash, even if he can still piss on our shoes."

Tony's grip turned harsh on the tablet, and he gritted his teeth as he kept going. A leash. He'd always hated leashes.

"I... had not known that Tony was prone to urinating on footwear."

"It's a metaphor, Thor. But Director, don't you think that this is a little hasty? It's not like Tony's eyes have gone blue or anything. He's just been a little off. It's been a long week for all of us."

Tony forgave Clint a little. But just a little.

"I don't remember_ him_ walking around as an animal for three days." Natasha's bitter voice was the background music to Tony rounding the corner and finding himself at the door to the guest bathroom that JARVIS had told him about. It was an older door, one that they hadn't had the chance to update yet. He only had to twist the knob to get in, pausing to rub his prints away with his sleeve before he continued onward.

"Hasty? I think not. Agent Romanoff, you were watching Stark, weren't you? Did he seem different to you, or on edge?"

Tony paused, listening intently with his hand on the door to the guestroom.

"His mannerisms were the same. It's hard to tell for sure because of the defensive situation that he was in, but I'm fairly sure that he's concealing_ something_. It may or may not be related to Loki at all."

Tony let out a shaky breath. It was bad, but it could definitely be worse.

"Why would Stark even get involved with Loki?" There were muted footsteps, as though someone was pacing. Probably Steve or Thor, since Fury, Natasha, and Clint all walked like ninjas. Steve went on as Tony slipped through the darkened guestroom by the light of the tablet's projection. "I mean, he and Loki are alike in that neither one takes orders lightly, so what would their dynamic be? They would probably tear each others throats out the second one of them tried to take control."

"Fair point." Fury's voice was begrudging, but Tony blinked stupidly for a minute. Had Steve just said something about him that didn't totally reek of condescension and barely-concealed disgust? Huh. It must've be getting pretty chilly in hell right about then. "But we've still got to cover all of our bases. You'll all have to pitch in to make sure he doesn't leave the Mansion. Maybe Ms. Potts would be willing to assist you all. Goodness knows, Stark Industries could use a couple weeks of Stark's undivided attention."

Could it? Probably. Tony shrugged to himself as he opened the last door. The pool hall was pitch-black, save for the light from the tablet. He could just make out stacks of book-looking things and other dark lumps. "Alright, JARVIS, help me out here. I don't want to go sprawling."

_Shall I turn on the lights, Sir?_

"No, best to do this in the dark."

_I do hope you know what you are getting yourself into, Sir._

"Don't I always?"

_Shall I answer that truthfully?_

"Probably best that you don't. Just turn the brightness up all the way on the projection, won't you?" He half-listened to the conversation going on below as JARVIS brightened the display, casting blue and black shadows onto the walls and stacks of barely-recognizable stuff.

Something glinted on top of one of the pool tables, and Tony recoiled slightly as he saw what it was: a set of sleek, ornate knives. Some were palm-sized, for throwing, while others were like small swords. After a long, thoughtful hesitation, Tony stepped forward and picked up a few of the daintier ones, placing them gingerly in his pocket and trying not to slice open his fingers. Maybe he could give them to Loki in the next juncture in exchange for... for something. He would prefer to use books as bargaining chips - there certainly were enough of them - but they were more conspicuous and had more potential to aid Loki in larger-scale chaos.

He moved deeper into the room. It housed at least four or five tables, each of which was heaped with what must have been Loki's possessions. Tony shook his head slightly, wondering if Thor had emptied Loki's room or something. It must have looked like Cindy Lou Who's house after the Grinch left.

Tony was listening absently to Fury talking about shifts when he saw the box.

Only _box_ didn't do it justice- it was a casket, or a chest. He moved closer, staring. It was slender, no thicker than Tony's upper arm, and covered in thin, delicate scratches. No- Tony held the tablet closer -more of those runes. The flowery ones.

"Is this it? JARVIS?"

_It is, Sir._

Tony didn't need to ask. Power seemed to radiate from the chest as he reached forward and put a hesitant hand on it. It was cooler than the room around him, and he suppressed a shiver. "This... this is this wood. I thought you said our scans couldn't penetrate it?"

_They couldn't. It is most curious._

"Curiouser and curiouser," Tony muttered. His had let his hand run along the length of the casket before he remembered that he was leaving prints everywhere, and he took a moment to wipe it off hastily with the hem of his T-shirt. The dust almost made him sneeze.

"Well. It hasn't bitten me yet," he said slowly. His spine tingled with unease and anxiety as his fingers found the seam of the lid, then the simple clasp that held it closed. "So here goes nothing."

He flipped the clasp open and lifted the lid.

Tony glimpsed something glinting softly just before an invisible force rushed past him, ruffling his hair and making his ears pop.

In his ear, Thor gave an almighty roar.

* * *

**Hehehe- I know, I'm evil. But I actually have _time_ now, and I'm really into this, so there should be an update very soon. Pinky-swear!**

**Reviews are what sustain me, and you guys do a phenomenal job of keeping me well supplied with kindness and support. I can't thank you all enough! You were my heroes this past week, keeping me going throughout this God-awful project.**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep.**


	18. Chapter 18

**I'm so sorry for the wait, guys! I meant to update yesterday, but I looked an my calendar and realized that it was Father's Day, and then spent the whole day pretending that I hadn't totally forgotten about it... *sigh***

**I really like this chapter, and I _really_ like the ideas I have for the next one. I'll do my best to update tomorrow, but we'll see how much time I end up having. *ducks rotten fruit* Sorry, sorry...**

**Disclaimer: Not mine!**

**Warning: A little violence, nothing too bad.**

* * *

Tony yelped, clutching his ear as Thor's bellow resounded through his skull. The earpiece practically trembled with the force of the sound.

"_What?_ What the fuck's happening?"

"Loki! He is here!"

Oh, _fuck._

Tony grabbed the staff out of the casket and dashed for the door, not caring that he knocked into a stack of books on the way. The tablet swung and lurched in his grip, sending shadows spinning and shattering along the walls. "Follow them with the audio, JARVIS, tell me where not to go!" He was as the door to the guestroom, then the door to the bathroom, then he was breaking into the hall-

"-the hell do you mean, _here?_"

"My rooms! He has breached them!"

"_Fuck-_"

"The elevator, now!"

"No, the stairs-"

Tony sprinted down the hall, the staff unwieldy in his grip. His heart hammered against his ribcage and his desperate breaths couldn't get enough oxygen into his blood.

_Sir, they have entered the elevator. Captain Rogers is approaching in the stairwell._

"Shit!"

Tony skidded around a corner and slapped his hand against the scanner beside his door, "C'mon, c'mon," he muttered, sending anxious glances towards the hall that led to the elevator.

JARVIS' voice cut through the incomprehensible chatter in his earpiece.

_The elevator will arrive in four seconds._

Tony shoved the door open.

_Two._

He slammed it behind him and froze, holding the staff awkwardly in one hand. What the fuck was he supposed to do next?

_The elevator has arrived._

Tony dashed to the fireplace and forced open the damper with trembling hands, shoving the staff up the chimney as far as it would go before propping it against the rough bricks on the inside. He ignored the bottle of scotch that he displaced from its hiding place as he went, shutting the damper again. It wasn't good enough, he _knew_ it wasn't good enough, but calling Loki to come and fetch it was out of the question. The team would be on Tony's doorstep the second they realized what was missing- finding him with Loki would be the worst possible occurrence.

He straightened and stared around his room, trying to fathom how he could look busy and not overwhelmingly guilty.

* * *

Natasha knocked on his door less than a minute later. "Stark? Open up. We have a situation."

"JARVIS, let in our lovely traitorous friend."

The door clocked open in time for Natasha to see Tony loose another virtual dart at the picture of Fury on his interactive screen. It "stuck" in the corner of the director's good eye. One of Natasha's brows rose as Tony let out a whoop, "Bull's eye! Or lion's eye, I guess..."

"You didn't hear Thor yelling?" Natasha's eyes were narrow. Tony shrugged, crossing his ankles. He was reclining on his bed, looking as innocent as possible.

"I figured that it was a classified yell. I thought it would be best for me to pretend that I hadn't heard it. Wouldn't want Fury to ship me off to a secret headquarters, would we?"

Natasha's mouth was a tense line before she spoke. "Loki was here."

Tony bolted upright. "Loki? Here? _Fuck-_"

Clint appeared behind Natasha, his face grim and pale. "You'd better come and see, Tony."

He slid off of the bed and followed them out into the hall. They flanked him on either side, and Tony set his jaw. Suspect or not, he wasn't too fond of being treated like a prisoner.

"Why did he come back? Why now?" Clint muttered as they arrived on Thor's doorstep.

"Maybe it's one of those 'speak of the devil' things." Tony tried to maintain his unfazed facade, but it was costing him far more effort than usual. Maybe it had something to do with him being guiltier than sin.

"Thor seems pretty messed up about it..." Clint trailed off as they reached the door to Thor's room, which was cracked just a bit. Even from the hall, the three of them could hear Thor thundering in the other room.

Steve met them at the door to the pool hall, his brow furrowed. "Tony. Did you hear anything up here?"

"You mean, aside from Thor doing his Fury impression?"

"Glad to see you've regained your sense of humor." Fury crossed his arms in the doorway, glaring. Nothing unusual about that. "Strange, Stark, that you seem to be taking this so well."

"Just looking on the bright side. I've heard that a positive attitude can do wonders for a prisoner's expedited release." Tony shouldered past him and into the hall. He blinked in surprise.

Under the bright lights, he could clearly see the mounds of objects for what they really were. There weren't just books and knives- the pool tables were overflowing with every kind of belonging: clothing, worn stacks of paper, even what looked like an apothecary kit, complete with feathers and bones and unidentifiable liquids in cloudy glass containers. There were more weapons, too- Tony sighted a nasty-looking pair of curved swords and suppressed a shiver.

Thor was hunched over the casket, his hands clenched on the wood. Tony sidled forward, clearing his throat as the others trickled in behind him. "Thor? Were you planning on sharing the story with the rest of the class?" His tone was light, but his heart thrummed unsteadily in his chest. Would Thor know that it had been him? What if that freaky wind thing left some sort of mark or signature?

But there was no accusation in Thor's eyes as he turned. His voice contained an odd mixture of glumness and excitement. "My brother has entered our home once more and reclaimed his staff."

At Tony's elbow, Clint asked, "What do you mean, his staff? He already stole it from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s facility."

"I had never laid eyes on that scepter prior to Loki's attack on our island city. I believe it to be a weapon of the Chitauri. This," Thor gestured to the empty chest, almost knocking over a stack of books in the process, "contained the staff with which Loki has fought many battles. It was a gift from the Elvish king on the anniversary of Loki's birth."

Tony raised his eyebrows. Evil or not, that was pretty cool.

"You had Loki's staff here all this time? And you didn't tell us?" Natasha spoke slowly, as though she was having trouble believing the words that she spoke.

Tony turned slightly, just enough to see a number of wary, confused faces. He wondered if he was about to be replaced as Undesirable No. 1.

Thor puffed his chest out defensively. "Indeed, I did. I had hoped that his staff and other belongings would act as a lure to bring my brother close to us."

Clint spluttered. "We don't fucking _want_ him close to us! We want him in a jail cell, one that he _can't_ escape in four fucking minutes."

"These are Loki's things?" Fury eyed the dusky vials of liquid with suspicion.

"They are."

"What did you do, order a moving crew?" Fury's sarcasm was underlined with irritation. Tony smirked- the director was almost certainly swearing a blue streak on the inside, wishing that he'd gotten a hold of all of this stuff a few months ago for tests and research.

"My father gave me the means to transport it all."

"Was it Mary Poppin's purse? I've always wanted one of those things," Tony piped up. (He shrugged shamelessly in response to the glares he received in turn.)

Thor was wearing his puzzled face again. "I do not follow..."

"Ignore him," Natasha grumbled.

"But how did you even know that Loki had been here? One second you were fine, the next you were shouting like a madman." Steve's voice was a little too close to Tony's ear for comfort, and he sidled over to lean on a table full of woven tunics. He didn't like the feeling of being boxed in.

"I asked my father to place an enchantment upon it so that I would be alerted the instant it was opened." Thor glanced around half-heartedly, as though hoping to see Loki lounging against the wall, staff in hand.

"Why not charm the chest to incapacitate Loki, or at least trap him?" Natasha's voice was doubtful as Tony scanned the room, wondering how much damage he had done blundering around in the dark. He could see a sprawl of spilled books off to one side, a patch of dust-less carpet by Thor's feet, but there were no profound signs of his presence.

Thor bristled and spoke angrily: "How do we expect to gain his trust if we initiate a meeting with such an underhanded plot?"

"Our bad. It's not like he wouldn't do the same thing to us," Clint muttered.

Steve stepped forward, glancing around at full tables. "What did you expect Loki to do, thank you and be on his way?"

Thor's expression lost some of its harshness, and he looked at the heaps of possessions morosely. "I had hoped that he would come here to replace his belongings. Seeing him, even for a moment, would have eased the grief that I carry for his absence."

No one seemed to know what to say to that, but they were interrupted by a gleeful shout from Thor.

"Look, friends- he has chosen to take several of his knives as well!"

Tony's stomach lurched as they followed Thor to the pool table by the guestroom door. The knives. The knives that "Loki" had taken.

The knives that were still in his pocket.

Tony swallowed bile as he stared down at the case, barely listening to Natasha's idle comments about the craftsmanship. Steve and Clint was more focused on what Loki was going to _do_ with the knives, while Thor babbled excitedly, exclaiming that he was_ sure_ that this was a sign of goodwill.

"I'm confiscating these materials. All of them."

Everyone looked up at Fury, who stared them down across the table. Tony blinked a few times, trying to figure out how that impacted him. It was hard to focus with the subtle presence of the blades against his thigh.

Thor straightened, his eyes narrowed ominously. "Apologies, director, but I must refuse you. My brother would not look kindly upon my forfeiting his possessions."

Fury's face twisted into a strange sort of snarl before evening out again, and Tony wondered if the director had finally run out of patience. "You should have given these _possessions_ to us the second you returned to earth with them! We could have used them to prepare ourselves for Loki's next attack!" Thor snorted derisively, and Fury's voice rose to a roar. "Thor, you've forgotten that your _brother_ is a war criminal that has yet to be tried for his crimes. He's dangerous, he's_ insane_, and he is the last person on earth that you should be worried about offending!"

"Oh, no," Tony winced. "No, he doesn't like it when you call Loki crazy-"

Thor's arm snapped to the side, palm open.

Tony stared dumbly before diving aside as Mjölnir crashed through the wall with a screech of metal-on-metal. He gasped- the landing sent one of the knives into his thigh, biting easily through the skin. Steve followed him down, falling awkwardly on top of Tony as though he was trying to shield him; instead, the impact made Tony grit his teeth as the blade dug deeper his leg. Blood welled hotly on his thigh, and he shoved Steve away as he grabbed the edge of the nearest pool table and pulled himself up to hide the red stain that was slowly surfacing from under his pocket. He tugged at his jeans and cringed as the blade dislodged itself from the skin with an ugly pulling sensation.

But he forced himself to ignore the sharp pain as he peeked at the scene before him.

It wasn't pretty. The hammer was raised threateningly, and Fury had a gun aimed at Thor's forehead.

"You will not speak of my brother in such a way, and you will not presume to take what is his! I have grown impatient with your demands and your disrespect!" Thor took a step forward, and Fury's fingers tensed on the trigger.

"Alright," The Captain tried, getting to his feet uneasily. "I know it's been a long day, but guys, you need to lower your-"

"Be silent, Captain Rogers," Thor growled, his gaze never wavering from Fury. "Director, I will not stand by while you dismantle every keepsake from Loki's childhood, every reminder of the time before he began to act so unlike himself. I will not allow it."

Fury's mouth was a flat, tense line. "Loki is one of the biggest threats this world has ever encountered, maybe _the_ biggest. You would keep us from learning more about him for the sake of a few memories?"

"Okay, I don't know what they taught you in spy-school, but goading the god is never a good idea," Tony called from behind the table. (If his voice was a little strained, nobody noticed. In fact, they ignored him entirely.)

"If you cannot respect my wishes, Director, then leave. I have no desire to fight you, but I shall if you choose to force me." Thor's face was deadly serious. Tony felt respect for the god bubble up in his chest. Then it vanished when he remembered that all of this was was over a bunch of crap that belonged to Loki.

Fury looked like he might prefer to be beheaded by Mjölnir than walk away from this standoff. (It was actually looking more and more likely.) "Thor. This is-"

"I will not be moved on this matter."

It was another few seconds before Fury lowered the gun with a barely-contained rage in his eyes. He never looked away from Thor, who didn't lower the hammer. "I don't want to lock you up, Thor, and I don't want to take more Avengers out of the field than I have to. But if you show even a _hint_ of protecting Loki in more than an argument, I'll put your immortality to the test. I promise you that."

He turned his back on Thor and headed for the door, speaking without looking at any of them. "Anyone who feels like continuing our earlier conversation will arrive at the S.H.I.E.L.D. office downtown tomorrow morning at eight. Not you, Stark."

Then the door slammed behind him, and Thor lowered Mjölnir with a short, angry sigh. Clint and Natasha stood slowly a few paces away. "Thor..." Clint began cautiously. "Is all of this really worth Fury's hissy fit? He'll be steamed for two weeks, minimum."

Thor aimed his glare at the archer, but it wasn't quite as harsh as when it had been aimed at Fury. "I accepted responsibility for my brothers possessions by bringing them with me to Midgard, and I will will not give them up so readily. It would be tantamount to giving away my brother's trust."

"Right. Because there's an abundance of trust between you two." Steve was next to receive the glare.

"Can we all just stop fighting and shut up for ten seconds?" Tony snapped, pulling himself upright and doing his best to hide his aching, stinging leg behind a tower of furry-looking books. "You'd think we were an old married team or something. Let's just accept this- Thor's weirdly protective of Loki's shit, Fury wants it and can't have it, everyone else has meaningless opinions. And while we're accepting things,_ I'm not working with Loki._" He stared pointedly around the room. "Now, I'm going to get horribly drunk in my room, write an angsty diary entry, that kind of thing. If you guys take issue with that then... well, I don't actually care, because, what with all of the pissing contests, we kinda forgot that_ Loki_ was in this room less than fifteen minutes ago, and could return at any time to blast each and every one of us into a bloody pulp with his new toys. I plan to die drunk, if at all."

He turned away quickly, hiding his leg, and headed towards the door in the silence that followed. With each step, it became more difficult to ignore the wet throbbing of the wound. A glance down showed a decent bloodstain the size of a grapefruit, quickly approaching the cantaloupe range. Tony's breath left him in a gust as the door to the pool hall closed behind him, and he pressed a hand to the stain. He could feel the warm metal through the fabric of his jeans, and he grimaced.

Stealing knives: Worst. Idea. Ever.

Tony hurried down the hallway to his room, praying that Fury was gone and that he wouldn't be stopped, but no one called after him or caught up to him. Still, he didn't relax until he had his back to his bedroom door. "JARVIS? Bolt this. I want it bomb-proof."

_I'm not sure that the bomb safety was the purpose of the room's construction, Sir, but I shall do my best._

"That'll have to be good enough. Is the med kit still under the sink?" Tony began to limp towards the bathroom.

_I believe so._

"Terrific." Tony pushed open the bathroom door and winced at his reflection- his eyes were bloodshot, but his skin was already beginning to pale. "Jeez. I'm especially beautiful today, JARVIS, did you notice?"

_If you say so, Sir._

Tony shook his head slightly, pausing to dig the blood-smeared daggers from his sodden pocket and deposit them on the counter before bending down to pull the medicine kit out. He set it by the sink, cracking it open and rummaging through the baby band-aids and ACE bandages to get to the gauze and sterile pads at the bottom.

He was halfway through disentangling himself from his jeans when JARVIS spoke up. _Sir? Agent Barton is requesting entrance._

"Shit," Tony hissed, partially in response and partially because he'd just ripped the lining of his pocket away from the gash and gotten a good look at it for the first time. Decent length. Unfortunate depth. Bleeding profusely. He tore open a sterile package with his teeth and pressed the bandage against it. "Tell him I'm in the shower. In fact, turn on the shower ... fucking lot of blood ... But don't tell him that!"

_Of course. One moment._

Tony made his way to the shower and angled his leg into the spray to rinse the thin, crusting blood that had seeped down from the wound. God, what a stupid way to get sliced up...

_I'm afraid that he is insisting, Sir._

He grimaced. "What does he want?"

There was a pause. _He wishes to discuss tonight's occurrences._

"Tell him that I'm tired and soaking and that I don't- shit." Tony's phone was buzzing in the other room. "Is that him?"

_It is._

"Shit."

_You are beginning to repeat yourself, Sir._

"I know, I know. Answer and put the audio over the speakers in here."

_As you wish, Sir._

Clint's voice came through loud and clear a moment later. "Tony? You there?"

"Yeah. What can't wait until morning? It's been kind of a shitty evening for me." Tony dabbed at the area around the gash with a sponge, wincing at the tenderness. He hoped he wasn't going to get some Asgardian infection or something.

"Yeah, about that. Can we talk about..." Tony heard a heavy sigh. "Look, I feel like a moron talking to you on a phone when you're twenty feet away."

"Fifty."

"Same difference. Can I just come in?"

Tony stared skyward for a few moments, cursing inwardly, before conceding. A chance at getting a prison guard on his side wasn't something that he could turn up his nose at, no matter how small a chance it was. "Okay, how about this- come back in ten minutes with as much alcohol as you can smuggle past Steve. Talking with you while I'm showering is weirding me out."

"Oh... right. Deal. See you in ten."

There was a click, and Tony ducked his head into the spray, grinding his teeth. "Fuck."

_Sir?_

"I'm fine, JARVIS. Just pouring more lighter fluid on my life is all."

_Very good, Sir._

* * *

**Oh, goodness. Everyone is so _combative_ tonight, aren't they? But someone had to yell at Fury. The dude needs to learn _boundaries..._**

**Anyway, I'll _try_ to have the next chapter up by tomorrow, but I've learned that making promises is unwise (you never know when another random made-up holiday will screw with your writing time).**

**Your reviews are what keep me going day and night! I love you guys so much, and I'm so grateful for you support and generosity!**

**Cheers!**

**BlackSheep**


	19. Chapter 19

**Sorry for the wait, guys. I won't bore you with the details of the delay.**

**Disclaimer: not mine**

**Warning: minor drug usage (not recreational)**

* * *

By the time Clint knocked on Tony's door again, Tony was together enough to open it after the third alert from JARVIS. His hair was still damp, and he had put on baggy black PJ's that hid the bandages wrapped around his thigh (for the most part, anyway).

"Hey." Clint held up three bottles of whiskey. "Is this enough to gain me entrance?"

"Entrance, yes. Longer than two minutes to explain why the hell you didn't say a word to help me out back there, no." Tony grabbed one of the bottles and wrenched it open as he headed back into his room, leaving the door open for the archer.

There was a sigh behind him, then the sound of the door closing. "Look, it's more complicated than you think-"

"Then explain it to me." He turned, taking a large swig straight from the bottle. "Your tongue swelled up to three times its normal size, and you couldn't talk? You zoned out for the important part of the conversation? You-?"

"Fuck, Tony, would you _listen?_" Clint ran a hand through his hair, looking pained. "I was freaked out, okay? This whole shitfest with Loki, it just... it gets under my skin, you know? I like things that I can see, because that usually means that I can shoot them." His fingers twitched towards the bow on his shoulder as though he wanted to reassure himself that it was there. "And that's worked out pretty well so far. But Loki plays a whole different kind of ball. This would be hard enough without... what happened last summer..."

He looked up, eyes pleading, saying _don't make me say it out loud._

Tony nodded once, showing he understood, and Clint went on: "It's like... he's sneaky, and I hate sneaky. That's Natasha's thing, not mine. It's hell, knowing that he's out there and that we can't do shit about it, and when somebody starts pointing fingers... I... I get jumpy."

"And mute."

Clint tossed his hands into the air. "What could I say that would make Fury listen? If anything, he would've pointed fingers at me! He's never looked at me the same after... you know. What happened the first time around. Ever since, he gets this squinty-eyed look on his face, like he's trying to see through my skin to make sure I'm still me."

Tony nodded a little, leaning against the mantle. Clint ran a hand through his hair again, leaving a chunk above his ear sticking out to the side. "I guess what I'm saying is that it's usually best to play along with what Fury wants."

"Whoa, hold on- I thought you were on my side here!" Tony dove into the bottle again as Clint scrambled.

"I am! I mean... I just think that resisting Fury on this will only dig you a deeper grave. He's just as pissed off about this as I am, and since he can't get his hands around Loki's neck, he's using you as a substitute-"

"I noticed," Tony grumbled, but he still (grudgingly) offered Clint the whiskey when the archer moved to sit in one of the chairs by the fireplace. He accepted, taking a long pull before handing it back.

"You've known him long enough for you to understand how he is. His control issues are fucking with everyone around him, especially you. There's not much we can about it."

Tony tried to shift his weight subtly to relieve the throbbing in his leg. If he sat down, the bandages might be too prominent, but standing was beginning to seem like an unmanageable task. He should've popped a handful of the assorted pain pills scattered throughout the bathroom. "So, what you're saying is that you're sorry, but I should just play along like a good little inmate? Didn't think of that- maybe I should write it down before I forget."

Clint scowled. "Quit griping. You're lucky that he didn't haul your ass to one of their facilities. And what I'm _saying_ is that it'll blow over. I don't know what Loki's trying to accomplish, but he'll pull some unbelievable shit while you're in here, and Fury'll let you off the hook. Besides, this is going to get old for everybody pretty fast. I'm sure even Steve and Natasha will be shoving you out the door by the end of the week. In the meantime, I'll do my best not to breathe down the back of your neck too much while following orders."

Tony mulled it over, wondering if this actually changed anything about his imprisonment (he didn't think so). "Right. Sure. But Clint... my workshop...?"

The archer was already shaking his head, looking apologetic. "Sorry, Tony. Fury made it clear after you left: no lab access. He doesn't want to risk Loki getting a hold of your suits."

Tony shrugged sullenly, lifting the whiskey again. "Worth a shot. Can you imagine Loki in one of my suits, though?"

They shuddered in unison. "It'd be like him touching my bow. Bastard."

There was a beat of silence. Clint accepted another drink while Tony tried not to picture what Clint's face would look like if he found out that it_ had_ been him who stole the scepter. Both scepters, in fact.

"So. What now? You're taking first shift?"

Clint rolled his eyes. "No. You're fine when you're alone in here."

"Ah. Good to know." Tony stifled a yawn, but Clint noticed, raising an eyebrow.

"Get some rest. We can talk about the details in the morning." He stood and stretched before pausing, arms still above his head. He frowned at the carpet. "You smoke?"

"Not even a little." Tony peered at Clint's feet, trying to see what had sparked the question.

"Huh. You've got some ash on your rug."

Tony felt suddenly cold. Ash from the fireplace. He forced a shrug and a smile. "Probably from a girl. You know how it is..."

Clint snorted with a knowing grin before clapping Tony on the shoulder and heading for the door. "Of course. Oh- one more thing." His heart stopped as Clint's tone took a turn for the serious. "On the off chance that you _are_ Loki, just know that I'll hunt you down and leave you with more holes than a box of doughnuts." One corner of his mouth quirked up to ease the biting words, but it took a lot of effort for Tony to return it as the door closed behind the archer.

"Fucking_ ash,_" Tony muttered as he limped his way to the bathroom. His wound felt like it was ripping wider- he should really put a few stitches in it, but he was too exhausted to even think about trying. He would settle for a handful of painkillers and as much alcohol as he could force into his body before he fell asleep.

"JARVIS? Where'd I put the pain meds?" Tony crouched awkwardly in front of the cabinets, using the drawers to balance. His leg protested as he stretched the skin around the wound.

_I believe that they are in the bottom drawer on the far left._

"Excellent." Tony dug in, standing sluggishly and dumping some (almost certainly too many) into his palm.

_Sir, it is not advisable that you consume more than the prescribed dose at one time..._

"JARVIS. This day belongs in the Hall of Fame for Sucky Days. Let me indulge." Tony knocked a few back, washing them down with whiskey. He glanced down at the counter and nearly choked- the knives were still sitting in a little clumped pile, splotchy with dried blood and glinting dangerously. "My God, I'm just _asking_ to be found out, aren't I?"

JARVIS didn't respond.

Tony reached forward hesitantly, picking up the least-bloody of the four, and held it up to the light. The shape reminded him of a cross between a ninja star and an animal's claw. The blade was as thin as a quarter at its thickest point, but when Tony tried to bend it to check its flexibility, it didn't yield one bit.

"Huh. Cool."

Each one was different, too. The second one was spindly and slightly twisted, with scalloped edges and slightly curved tips. Another was simple, with a straight blade that tapered to deadly points at each end. The final one was a perfect circle, smooth like a stone from a riverbed, and had a circle in the middle big enough for Tony to slip his index finger through. Its edge was sharper than a surgeon's tools.

He stacked each one carefully in his palm and held them gingerly, weighing them. Together, they weren't even a half-pound. They should have snapped easily in Tony's grip, but none of them were the least bit brittle or malleable. He would kill to run tests on them, but seeing as his workshop was currently out of reach...

Tony set them in the sink and ran the faucet over them, not caring as his hands became progressively more clumsy as the medication kicked in. At least he couldn't feel his leg anymore, though he was accumulating little nicks on his fingers.

In fact, he was feeling pretty good when he collapsed onto his bed a few minutes later, smiling blearily at the ceiling. Staying in wouldn't be so bad! Why was he so upset? It was silly. He was going to have so much time to drink, and... drink. And maybe do some drinking while he was at it.

* * *

His dreams were riddled with mouths and knives trailing over and biting into his skin as his vision whirled from grey-scale to technicolor to shades of black and red. His wrists were shackled, his mouth sealed shut as Loki placed a blurry chess piece on the bare arc reactor. The trickster god gripped Tony's wounded leg harshly, placing his other chilled hand on Tony's cheek. Green eyes glinted guardedly before cracking into emeralds that tumbled down his cheeks and shattered on the floor. All the while, he whispered that lilting, sharp magic-language into Tony's ear.

* * *

When Tony woke, he could've sworn that there was a hand swatting at his cheek.

"Tony?"

Oh. Maybe there was.

He pried his eyes open and stared up at Pepper with uncomprehending eyes. Her business suit was crisp and clean (unlike him). "...mm?"

"Get up. God, I can't believe you got yourself under house arrest..."

"House arrest? What house arrest?" Tony rubbed his eyes, and the previous day became a little clearer. "Oh, that. Right." He peered up at her again from between his fingers. "Didn't know I was allowed visitors."

"Well, you are. And this whole ordeal couldn't have come at a better time, because I have so much to go over with you about the company."

He spied her briefcase at her side and groaned. "Oh, God, not today, Potts-"

"_Yes_ today." Pepper pushed her hair behind her ear, clearly irritated. Tony didn't know why- he was the one who felt like utter shit. "I let you sleep as late as I could, but honestly, I think two in the afternoon is more than pushing it-"

"Two in the-?" Tony bolted upright and was rewarded with a piercing throb in his skull. His leg chimed in, a sort of wet burning that made him want to claw the pain out of his skin. He wasn't sure what to do- vomit or pass out. "JARVIS, how long was I comatose?"

_I don't believe that you ever entered a comatose state, Sir. However, you slept for approximately fifteen and one-quarter hours, based on when you began to snore._

"I don't snore," Tony grumbled, easing his way off of the bed and accepting the pair of Advil that Pepper offered him. He groped around in the covers to find a half-empty bottle of whiskey left over from the night before. Given the stench from the sheets, a fair bit of it had spilled in the night.

Pepper eyed him with equal parts displeasure and confusion. "Fifteen hours, Tony?"

"It was a really long day. Week. Period of time in my life." Tony took another swig, just for luck. Then another. Then-

She snatched the bottle away, ignoring his protests. "I get that it was a hard couple of days, but sleeping that long isn't like you-"

He glowered at her. He'd gone on, what, two thieving missions yesterday? And he'd dealt with Fury for a solid hour. And he'd let himself be teleported around Manhattan. "Yeah, sure. You get it. Now move a couple of feet to your left so that I can shower the scotch smell out of my hair."

"If only that were possible," she muttered, but she moved aside nonetheless. "But while you're showering, have JARVIS brief you on the company's current stock and public relations standpoints. You've been out of commission for a while."

"I really don't see that happening..." Tony hobbled into the bathroom.

"Are you... limping?"

"No." He slammed the door behind him.

* * *

Tony exited ten minutes later, feeling much more alert and (a little) more amiable. "Okay, so. Today really isn't a good business-day. Can we talk shop tomorrow?"

From her seat by the fireplace, Pepper glared at him. "And then - let me guess - tomorrow will be a non-business day, too. Honestly, Tony, what do you have to do today?"

Figure out when Loki was going to summon him and how he was going to transport the staff. That kind of thing.

"Just... stuff." Tony sat, ignoring the scrutiny he was being subjected to. "Look, you know what? Fine. You have two hours. And we need to do this while eating."

"Two hours-? Tony-"

"In fact, food sounds really good right now. Your time starts now, so you might want to follow me." He headed for the door, not bothering to hold it open for her. He could hear her spluttering before her voice sounded more clearly in the hallway behind him.

"Tony, I'm serious, there's a lot we need to cover, and two hours isn't going to cut it-"

Tony turned and threw his arms into the air, walking backwards. "Well, it's not like I'm _going_ anywhere, Potts. I just can't deal with a shitload of droll company stuff right now. I have more important things to think about."

"Like why you're limping?" Her narrowed eyes were fixed on his legs.

"I stubbed my toe last night." He turned around in time to push the elevator button a half-dozen times. "JARVIS, start a two-hour countdown."

"Tony..."

He glanced over at her, meeting her gaze. "What? Is there something on my face?"

"Don't be glib with me. You're really behind in _everything,_ and I can't keep letting things pile up the way they have been. It's unprofessional, and-" The elevator arrived, and Tony ducked into it, wishing that the doors could be slammed. His headache wasn't quite gone, and Pepper's crisp words rasped across his temples like sandpaper as she hustled into the elevator after him.

She was saying something about the stocks, but Tony's mind kept drifting to think of what he was going to do tonight when Loki called him. It would be oh-so-much easier to just summon the trickster and hand over the staff, but he was fairly sure that Loki would be ticked off if Tony ignored the request not to call him with the gauntlet. And a ticked god wasn't very good company on the best of days.

"...a public appearance on your part should help to mitigate the damage from earlier in the week, but it'll take a while to make up those twenty points... are you listening?"

"Maybe." The elevator doors opened again, and Tony walked straight into one of those awkward silences that almost always meant that the people in the room had been discussing you moments before. He gritted his teeth into a smile. "Morning, everyone. Or... early afternoon, I guess."

Steve cleared his throat and stood a little straighter. "Tony. Good to see you."

"Isn't it always?" Tony made a beeline for the fridge, Pepper chattering away in his ear as he went. "You can keep conversing about me, I won't listen in. See?" Tony put his hands over his ears, savoring the guilty looks on Steve and Thor's faces. Natasha was (unsurprisingly) unapologetic, and Clint was absent from the room entirely.

Thor folded his hands in front of him, his eyes shifting. "I-I assure you, Tony, we meant you no insult in discussing our situation..."

"I get it. I'd probably be talking about me, too. Besides, I should be sending you a fruit basket for the way you talked to Fury." Tony resurfaced from the fridge toting a mostly-full pizza box. He pulled out a slice and stuffed a large portion into his mouth. "But sherushly, y'cn kep tlkn' bot meh-"

"That's repulsive, Stark."

He swallowed. "Well, I haven't eaten in a day, Cap, cut me some slack. I was saying that it's okay for you guys to keep talking about me behind my back. Just remember whose house you live in."

And with that, Tony headed back towards the elevator, Pepper trailing after him. She'd finally fallen silent, having given up on forcing him to listen while he was antagonizing the others.

Just as the doors closed, he heard a low whisper from Steve:

"...was he limping, or was I just imagining it?"

Then the elevator was moving, and Tony was shoving more pizza into his mouth just to have something to do with his hands. Pepper was eyeing him with unconcealed concern, and he couldn't have that.

"Tony..."

"I'm not limping."

"That's not what I was going to say."

"Well, in that case, go right ahead."

She examined him a moment longer before leading the way out of the elevator. "If you can't handle the company today, maybe we can work out a schedule for your events and benefits for the coming months. Donating can be fun, and I think we have some scholarships to give out-"

He stopped her with a hand on her arm. "You're dropping the Stark Industries crap? Do you really think I'm that pathetic?"

She shook her head slightly, not shying away from his hard gaze. "You're right- it's been a hard week. I'll ease you into the more tedious work."

There was a beat of silence before Tony nodded belatedly, moving to pass her in the hall. "Right. Thanks."

"Not at all."

* * *

As it turned out, the donating and scholarship-ing could be almost as bad as the company work. Tony tipped his head against the back of the couch with a groan as she pulled another stack of applications out of her briefcase.

"For the love of God, can't we just give them all money? Would we be able to stop the paperwork then?" His eyes roved to the fireplace for the umpteenth time, and he wondered if Loki would disqualify him if he ended up at the Juncture without the staff (maybe he'd be allowed to die in peace).

"Oh, stop whining. These are the finalists for the art show. You remember it, right? We're holding in that remodeled factory down by the river? The one with the gorgeous views and the thirty-foot ceilings?" Pepper raised her eyebrows hopefully, but Tony just shrugged. Her eyes dimmed. "Fine. JARVIS, could you pull up some pictures to remind Mr. Stark of the riverfront property purchased a year and a half ago?"

_Certainly, Miss Potts._

"Suck up," Tony muttered, but the pictures that appeared on his tablet momentarily distracted him from sulking. "Oh, God, that one? Pepper, that place is the one that looked like an ax-murderer's hangout spot, remember? He's probably going to crash the party and slaughter everyone."

Pepper rolled her eyes. "It's been remodeled, Tony. It looks just like another floor of Stark Tower, only with taller ceilings. And that's not the point of this- the point is that there are fifteen finalists here, and we need to pick one to show his or her work throughout April and May..."

"Fine, fine." Tony propped his head up on his elbow and stared glumly at the first folder. "Show me. Wait, no- take out any abstract painters, you know I never understand those. The artist will expect me to be deep and shit like that."

Pepper muttered something about an "assuming, lazy, judgmental billionaire," but she still pulled out three or four of the files and stuffed them back into her briefcase.

Tony was halfway into a set of paintings dedicated to floral scenes when he slapped the folder closed and sent Pepper a look of absolute despair. "Pep, I'm dying here. This is your thing, not mine, can't you just...?"

"No. I will_ force_ you to come to this opening, and I'll be damned if you end up getting drunk and never saying a single word to the artist." Her tone was civil enough, but there were splotches of red on her cheekbones that spoke of lost patience (but he wouldn't worry until her neck went red. That was the danger zone).

"I wouldn't do that."

"You've done that exact thing every year for the past six years."

"...oh. Still, after this, I'm done. I'll look at the art, then I'm kicking you out." Tony flinched slightly as Pepper's pen bounced off the back of his head.

"Fine. Pick. Just know that I'm going to force you to talk to whichever artist you decide on for at least a half-hour."

"Noted." He picked up the files and slid onto the floor (wincing as it jarred his leg), and he spread them out in a semicircle around him, opening each one as he went. Pepper asked what he was doing (it involved a threat along the lines of "if you jumble those pictures, I'll kick you in the head"), but he ignored her.

"JARVIS? Scan the first page of each file and create a chart with the names and the first two pieces of every artist. Project it from the tablet."

_Gladly, Sir. Initiating scan._

Tony pushed himself back onto the couch as the chart sprang up before his eyes. He scanned the table, looking for anything worth cutting or keeping.

"No florals- cut columns two and eight." They vanished, and the remaining boxes swelled to compensate. "Nine, too. Fruit bowls? really?" He squinted. "Pepper, is that a vampire? You let in vampire art?"

"It represents the delusions of the media, and the current fad."

"Ah- no. It represents creeps in need of good dentistry. Scrap five, JARVIS. And six while you're at it."

"What's wrong with portraits? They're modern: people like Lady Gaga, Obama-"

"Is there one of me?"

Pepper pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers. "...no."

"Boring." Tony enlarged the remaining seven sections. "Four is depressing. So is ten. One uses too much blue-"

"It's titled "An Exploration of the Sky," Tony, of course there's a lot of blue."

"Well, she could've painted a few sunsets. Get rid of twelve, too. If I wanted to play 'name that skyline' I would be circling the world in the jet." (Even though he wished that he could be in the jet, speeding away from Fury and Loki and this stupid art stuff...) "Hm. Lose seven... in fact, lose them all."

"Tony-!"

"They're _boring,_ Pepper! I trust you, okay? Just pick an artist yourself. Not one of these, though..."

She'd been practicing her glare. "I did that the last six years."

Tony stood, turning his head away so she wouldn't see him wince at the flare of pain in his leg. "I promise, I'll talk to the artist before I touch the alcohol. I just really need to get some stuff done-"

"What _stuff?_"

"Just... stuff." At her exasperated expression, Tony rushed to continue, "Look, you can send me whatever you want to debrief me on the artist's childhood or whatever, but I have to-"

"Do stuff. I heard you the first ten times." Pepper stood and started shoving folders into her briefcase. "And don't think I won't ban you from the bar, Tony. Your public appearance is in tatters right now, and we can't have any more bad press."

He raised an eyebrow as she strode towards the door. "An art opening will affect my PR?"

She slammed the door in response.

Tony sighed, putting a hand to his leg as he glanced towards the clock. It was just after four, which meant that any pain meds he took wouldn't be out of his system by the time Loki called him. Showing up drugged was just _begging_ to be killed.

So he went for the scotch instead.

Clint had left the other bottles by his chair. Tony walked (not limped) to the fireplace and selected one randomly, popping it open and taking a gulp. Something caught his eye- the pale grey ash, contrasting noticeably against the soft gold of the carpet.

His eyes slid slowly to the fireplace, and after a moment of hesitation, he stepped forward and reached inside, groping around for the staff. It dropped suddenly, almost slipping through his fingers.

He examined it as he backed into a chair, running his fingertips lightly over the surface. There were more runes etched into the surface almost too lightly to see. The staff was an odd goldish-bronze color shot through with sliver near the top, where the metal thickened and curved slightly to end in a rounded grip. It looked innocent enough, but Tony's hands were cautious and uneasy as they traced the silvery threads of metal.

"Nothing special," Tony muttered, trying to convince himself as he leaned it against the chair. He got up to fetch the knives from the bathroom, wondering if he could just call Loki to get it over with. It seemed like a bad idea- after all, Loki had probably told him not to call for a reason. Instead, it was a waiting game.

Tony hated waiting.

He did his best to get prepared - putting on a jacket, slipping the knives into the pocket - before pulling the Book of the Game and the pen from their hiding place (aka, the tie drawer) and settling down with it in his lap. There was nothing new to be studied, but Loki had gotten the better of him last time, and he would be damned if he let that happen again.

Even so, it was near-impossible to focus on the rules and laws. Scenarios ran rampant through his mind: Loki tricking every valuable answer out of him, Loki stabbing him with one of the newly regained knives, Loki saying "that is not my staff."

Tony set the scotch aside and picked up the pen, skipping to the correspondence section. He only hesitated for a moment before writing:

**_I'm ready when you are._**

He set the pen aside and wrapped his hand around the staff, waiting. It only took a minute for the reply:

_**Very well. Hold your breath.**_

Tony frowned. Hold his-?

Then his gauntlet seared his wrist in a flare of gold energy, and he entered a blur of color and sensation that smothered him, pressing against his face like pillows or moths or smoke. He struggled not to gasp for air.

Then he landed with a jolt, like the end of a see-saw hitting the ground, and tumbled onto his knees, taking a massive breath. It was as though he'd been under water for an hour, screaming for air. Very different from the earlier teleportation.

After a moment of regaining his bearings, his eyes focused on the figure standing before him, arms crossed.

Loki raised an eyebrow. "That is not my staff."

Tony's heart froze in his chest. "Wh-what-?"

Then the trickster smirked broadly. "Breathe, Stark. I jest."

* * *

**Eheheheheh-**

**Loki'd. *sniggers***

**I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up, but I'll certainly do my best to have it in the next couple days. Probably not tomorrow… *hides* Sorry!**

**I always feel so excited and honored to receive your support and kind words (and even the occasional threat). Thank you all so much!**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep**


	20. Chapter 20

**Okay, sorry for the wait, but big chapter! Yay!**

**My computer is having major issues right now in saving my work- I've been losing big chunks over the past few days due to sudden shut-downs, so this is a little jumbled. _Please_ let me know if you notice something wrong or weird! I've had very little time to edit!**

**Warning: The usual.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

* * *

Tony scowled at Loki, but the god showed no signs of repenting. "You're hilarious." He got to his feet, trying not to wince as his leg throbbed unpleasantly. It was only then that he took notice of his surroundings.

"Huh. Glad to see you've escaped the evil-lair stereotype."

He could only assume that they were in an old storage space of some kind: the floor was bare concrete, covered in a thick layer of dust, and the ceilings soared at least forty feet above his head. The rafters were nothing but thin shadows in the darkness. The walls were covered in large swatches by taut sections of tarp or drop-cloth, though Tony could see no paint. Weak light wormed its way in through a graffiti-smeared window, casting colored reflections onto the floor in the thinner patches of paint. It was almost beautiful.

"I have no _lair_." Loki stood in the center of the space, arms folded across his chest. There was something off about him, and it took a few moments for it to register: he wore a different set of armor that what Tony had grown accustomed to seeing. The plates covering his torso were smaller, like scales, and his cape had vanished entirely. Layers of leather covered his legs, fitted enough to escape the possibility of being too bulky. A thin mail wrapped around his forearms over his sleeves, though Tony could still see the gauntlet glinting beneath the edge.

"This is awfully lair-like. Just saying." He glanced around again. "Could use some furniture, though."

"You mistakenly assume that I reside here."

"Hey, no judgement here. I've crashed in worse places." Loki opened his mouth to argue, but Tony cut him off. "Look, just... take this already, would you?" The staff was heavy in his hands as he stepped forward, extending it towards Loki. His expression shifted drastically from vague irritation to a bemused satisfaction, and he accepted the prize with both hands.

"You have done well, Stark," he murmured, his eyes locked on the softly gleaming metal in his hands. "I admit, I had my doubts..."

Tony wasn't sure whether or not to feel insulted. "The time restraint wasn't exactly a walk in the park..."

Loki glanced up briefly before returning his attention to the staff. He seemed to be running his fingers over the runes as though he was checking for something. "In the past, victors have demanded more unattainable prizes in shorter amounts of time. It was the enchantment that I feared would hinder you." At Tony's sound of confusion, he elaborated. "Odin placed a curse or spell of some sort on the chest. I could not identify its nature by simply standing beside it; therefore, I was unsure if you would return in pieces or," he gestured idly to Tony, "whole."

Well, that was downright irritating. Still, something else bothered Tony more: "Standing beside- you were there? You went to the Mansion for your stuff?"

Loki lifted his gaze to Tony's again. "Of course. The retrieval of my possessions would have been simple were it not for the spell. There was no need for me to risk being bound or branded when I could send you in my stead." He paused, considering. "What effect did the spell have?"

The magic seized Tony's tongue. "It alerted Thor when the case was opened. _Fuck_, stop doing that!" He grimaced, wishing he had something to wash the taste out of his mouth. He'd forgotten- no questions.

"Interesting... I had anticipated a more aggressive form of magic. I suppose there is nothing to keep me from taking back what is mine." Loki nodded to himself. He lifted the staff (Tony did _not_ flinch) and made a twisting gesture with one hand.

Tony blinked- it had vanished into the air itself. "That's handy."

"Yes." Loki folded his empty hands before him and lifted an eyebrow. "And however much I may enjoy discussing the benefits of my magic, I do find myself wondering why you brought my knives to this Juncture."

Tony's hand went to his pocket in his surprise, and Loki twitched slightly, as though he anticipated an attack. "My, what an impressive spidey-sense you have there."

Loki's brow puckered. "I assume your words reflect some sort of Midgardian colloquialism."

"Uh. Yeah, it's a saying. Pop-culture. That sort of thing." Tony reached into his pocket and gingerly removed the knives, careful not to slice open his fingers. He still had a few little cuts from handling them the night before. "I brought them for an... an exchange."

"Oh?" Loki's head tipped to one side, his expression amused and quizzical. "You require something from me."

"Not... exactly." Tony felt like a child under the expectant gaze. He hadn't quite thought this through. "I was curious about what you would do, mostly. I didn't think that I could put in an order for a pair of seven-league boots or something."

"It is not customary. However, I have never been one to forsake... _philanthropy,_" His knowing smile had a teasing edge to it. "And it must be answered with generosity in kind."

Examining the weapons in his hands, Tony took a few moments to muse over his options. "Answers. No trading questions, just straight answers."

Loki shrugged. "The limits might make it a less savory option than some of the others." At Tony's prompting look, he went on. "I will not answer a question regarding a coming challenge, nor will I be especially forthcoming about my residence or past."

"Ah. Gotcha." That did take some of the incentive out of it. "Well, I've got four knives. That means four... four somethings in return. I really just want you to take them before I stab myself again." He held them out towards Loki, who shook his head.

"The exchange must be balanced. One at a time." Still, he stepped closer to lift one, the rounded disk, from Tony's palm. He felt a tingle of magic trickle down his spine and withheld a shiver- it felt a little like... like having power. Just a little, but power nonetheless. "Stab yourself again, you say." He scanned Tony up and down as he placed the knife into a leather pouch at his hip. "I had not realized that you made a habit of injuring yourself."

"That's me. Masochistic to a fault." Tony was feeling more than a little on edge with Loki suddenly standing two feet away; he was more used to having the god at a distance, and not quite so relaxed. It added a dimension to the air between them, like an expectancy or an absence. Something that screamed _enemy!_ into his ear while reminding him of the unique sensation of having Loki's entire focus upon him. It didn't help that the god had raised an eyebrow and was looking at him with a strange sort of curiosity.

"I was not aware. I was prepared to offer my aid, but if you are managing on your own..."

Tony shook his head quickly. "Oh, no managing. There's no managing going on here. Aid would be nice." He paused. "I mean, as long as it counts as only one of the four."

Loki tipped his head slightly to one side, a small smile on his face. "Very well. One of the four." He waved a lazy hand at the floor beside them, and two chairs and a tiny table sprung up from nowhere. "I recommend that you sit. Place the knives aside if you genuinely fret over an accidental injury."

"I do not_ fret_," Tony grumbled before placing the remaining knives on the table with exaggerated care. His fingers stung in places from a few new nicks, and a few of the old ones chimed in. His leg was a low throbbing in the background of the painful symphony.

"My mistake." Loki responded with an unapologetic tone. Tony supposed that "unapologetic" was better than "homicidal"... but even as he thought the words, it occurred to him that Loki hadn't been his usual raging, insane self this past week. Admittedly, the insanity could be blamed for mood-swings or something, but Loki had practically _volunteered_ to heal Tony. It seemed bizarre at best.

"Stark."

"Huh?" He focused his eyes on Loki's face, startled from his thoughts.

Loki sighed. "I find your staring intrusive."

"...Oh. Sorry." Tony quickly sat down, wincing as the motion made his leg pulse angrily. He hadn't known that he'd been staring.

Above him, Loki remained standing as he examined him. It only lasted a moment, though, and then the god was speaking again. "It seems that your leg is the worst injury, though your hands are not in the best of states..."

Tony recoiled slightly in his seat. "That's creepy. What, can you see though clothes or something? Oh, _damn it all_-"

"No, I cannot. I am merely a good judge of movement. How did you stab yourself?"

"I fell down. Then Steve landed on me." Tony twisted around to spit over the arm of the chair. The magic had a truly repulsive aftertaste. When he turned back, Loki had raised an eyebrow.

"Interesting."

"What- no, not like_ that!_"

Loki raised his hands in a pacifying gesture, his face amused. "I did not intend to imply something, nor do I understand your reaction."

"Like hell you don't," Tony grumbled. "Okay, here's what I want in exchange for the first knife: five minutes of free-talking time, where I get to ask rhetorical questions without worrying about you turning them against me."

Green eyes narrowed. "One."

"Three," Tony challenged.

"Two."

"Three," he repeated.

Loki crossed his arms again, looking pensive. "Three, and I receive the same right."

"Deal. Starting now."

"I do hope that speaking freely is worth your first boon," Loki muttered before moving his chair nearer to Tony's and seating himself. Tony relaxed slightly- he didn't enjoy people towering over him. "Shall I accept another knife in exchange for your healing?"

"Sure, take one." Tony gestured towards the three remaining blades, but Loki didn't move. "What?"

"You must offer it, otherwise the exchange will not be recognized by the Laws of Juncture," Loki explained. There wasn't nearly as much irritation in his voice as Tony had expected (although there was_ some_- Loki wasn't known for his patience, after all).

"Oh." Tony hesitated before picking up the one with crescent-moon edges and timidly handing it to him. The magic whispered down his spine again, and he shrugged his shoulders to escape the feeling.

The knife disappeared into the pouch at Loki's hip as the god spoke, "Now, then. Feel free to babble as you see fit, as your time is slipping away."

"Right!" Tony readied himself for a nonsensical rant about questions when Loki grasped his hand, lifting and turning it so that his palm faced the ceiling. "What are you doing?"

"What you asked." Loki pressed a fingertip to one of the minuscule slices on Tony's thumb and sealed it with a spark of green energy.

"What, you can't just slap me like last time?" It was rather hypnotic, the way that the fingers danced over his palm, leaving flares of magic in their wake. Tony found himself transfixed as Loki bent each of Tony's fingers, scouring them for cuts.

"The past few instances differed from this one. You suffered from a strain of the mind, of the senses, rather than a cut or a bruise. Tangible injuries require a more tactile response." Loki switched hands, and Tony winced as he mended a slightly deeper cut on the pad of his index finger.

"But... the first time, in Stark Tower. You didn't have to touch my chest to get rid of the worst of the bruises."

"What I did then was akin to flooding a section of your body with magic. That is why I pressed my hands here and here-" Loki tapped each of Tony's cheeks with a single finger before Tony could even think to flinch away, "-in order to release a large quantity of magic to heal the majority of your upper body. Had there been a bruise below your abdomen, I doubt that it would have been alleviated it in the slightest." Tony resisted the urge to touch his own face with his hands. Loki's finger had left behind a prickling sensation, similar to the residual magic on his hands.

Something else bothered him more, though. "Why are you still answering me? You can't gain anything, and giving me false information about something I could never replicate can't hurt me. So... why answer?"

Loki didn't even spare him a glance, though Tony thought the green eyes narrowed a little in amusement. "Hardly anyone has ever asked me before. It is only ever about returning to the battle, getting rid of pain, impatiently waiting for the bothersome process to be over with so that they may be elsewhere. No one cares for the how or the why- only the after." The cuts were gone, but he hadn't quite let go of Tony's hand. His fingers were warm with magic. There was a fragility to the loose hold, as though Loki didn't want to hold on too tightly. "But it is treated as a service rather than an art or a skill, and few have the time or desire to ask after such trivialities. I would not expect you to understand."

"I do," Tony said a bit too quickly, and Loki sent him a disbelieving look. "No, I really do! I mean, do you know how many people actually care about why the gloves of my armor glow when I fly, or how the flares deploy? I'm a futurist- I deal with science that most people have never even heard of, much less want to try to understand. It's my job to be ahead of everyone else, but nobody really gets that when you're ahead, you're... I mean..."

"Alone." Loki's gaze was level and strong and held just a hint of pleased surprise. Of understanding.

Tony's mouth went dry, and he was suddenly very aware of Loki's fingers resting on his palm. "Yeah. Alone."

Loki's face suddenly turned impassive, as though he was keeping himself in check. "Yes, well. There you have it." There was a beat of silence before Tony's hand was released and the trickster sat back in his chair. "I'll be needing to have a more manageable grasp of your leg before I can mend it properly."

"What? Oh, right, leg. Wound. Yes." They stared at one another for a few moments before Tony said, "So. Uh, go for it."

A black brow lifted in exasperation. "I need to _touch_ the wound, Stark."

"Oh. _Oh._" Tony looked down. "Um. Yeah, you know what? I'm actually okay with a little pain. Pain's good, you know? Reminds you that you're still alive. And that knives are pointy." And that he should really start wearing underwear again.

Loki sighed. "_Honestly_, Stark." Then there was a knife in his hand, and he darted forward.

Tony let out a terrified (manly) squawk, raising his arms to shield his face. He barely had time to register the flash of metal before the knife was gone and Loki was lifting a scrap of fabric away from his thigh. "Fuck, what was that? I thought you were going to-" _gut me_, he finished in his head, but Loki's scathing glance stopped the words cold in his mouth.

"Kill you? This is a Juncture, Stark, the backlash of magic would leave me in tatters. I simply saw no need to waste our time in a senseless argument over the indignity of undressing you. Now hold still." Loki pulled the bandages away with a sharp yank, and Tony gripped his armrest and gritted his teeth at it tugged at the wound.

"_Fuck_- forgive me for not expecting you to start cutting off my clothes," He grumbled. But that led to a surprising mental image, and he forced his mind elsewhere.

Loki leaned closer, frowning at Tony's thigh. "I recommend that you hold on to something. This will not be pleasant."

"How 'not pleasant' will it-_ oh, God-_"

Tony hunched forward, grappling at Loki's shoulder with a desperate hand while the other clenched the armrest hard. His gaze was locked on Loki's hand, bone-white and spidery against his skin as it pressed sharply against the mouth of the wound for an agonizing moment. Then it flared green, and the burning started, like a thousand, white-hot shards of glass needling deep within the gash. Tony gasped for breath, waiting for it to end, but the seconds slipped by, and the pain only grew fiercer.

Sweat had beaded on Tony's brow by the time it stopped, and his breathing was ragged. His whole thigh tingled like the aftermath of electrocution, but when Loki took his hand away from his leg, there was no trace of the wound apart from a thin white line, barely two inches long.

Tony's heart began to return to normal, and he slumped back in his chair. "..._fuck_..."

"So you've said." Loki murmured, prying Tony's hand off of his shoulder with surprising ease. "My knives are laced with magic. The wounds that they inflict take twice as long to heal and are not easy to fix through magical means." Loki glanced briefly at the pair that remained on the table. "I believe that it would be in your best interest to use a sack or a sheath of some kind the next time you attempt to steal them."

Tony groaned, tipping his head back against the seat and closing his eyes. His entire body felt drained, as if he'd been up for days without eating or drinking anything. "Never again," He muttered.

"I see." There was a rustling of fabric, and Tony opened his eyes in time to see Loki check a small round something in his palm. It took another few moments for him to recognize it as a pocket watch. "I am loathe to rush you, Stark, but I do have a schedule to keep. I'd assumed that our meeting would occur later, but since you made such haste in retrieving the staff, I allowed an earlier Juncture. Do you have any sort of preference in your compensation for the other two knives?"

"No..." Tony grumbled. Then he straightened sharply. "Yes- I need you to get me back into the Mansion. Into my room. I'm not allowed to leave."

Loki steepled his fingers on his lap, his eyes curious. "Oh?"

"House arrest. _Your_ fault, might I add." Tony carefully picked up both of the remaining knives and offered the star-like one to Loki. "Just get me into my room."

Loki looked as though he wanted to disputer the "your fault" statement, but he only accepted the knife, tucking it away with the others. "That leaves one."

"I'm too tired to care," Tony eyed the final knife between his fingers. It was the simplest, the double-bladed one that was sleek and almost delicate enough to be considered dainty. "What would you give me if I had no requests?"

Loki was quiet for a moment before reaching out and grasping Tony's wrist.

Blackness.

Then Tony stumbled into his desk, banging his knee on the corner and cursing loudly. "You couldn't warn me before you did that?" He'd entered the now-familiar territory of a spinning head and tilting vision. It wasn't quite as bad this time, though, lessening as Tony fumbled his way into a seated position against his desk. He ignored the drawer handles that dug into his neck and spine, glancing up at Loki instead.

The god towered over him from his standing position; it was disconcerting until he crouched down. Then it was disconcerting for an entirely different reason as his face became level with Tony's. When he wasn't making threats or snarling, his face was surprisingly... normal. No, that wasn't right- it was unusual, unique, attractive-

"Giving you a warning is not as entertaining," Loki answered with a devious smile, and Tony glared back halfheartedly for a moment. He didn't really have the energy for a long-lasting scowl; between the healing and the teleportation, he was downright exhausted. "The final knife, Stark?"

"Right, that." Tony offered it and Loki lifted it easily, as though he wasn't the least bit concerned about cutting himself. "How do you even throw those things? There's no grip."

Loki eyed him for a moment, and Tony found himself wondering what shade of green that was. Some variation of emerald? "Perhaps I will demonstrate the technique at a later point when we have ample time. As for the moment, I must depart imminently. But first," Loki made a curling motion with one hand, producing a flare of magic. Once it had dissipated, a small green cube rested in his pale palm. "Lend me your hand."

Tony slowly acquiesced, and Loki deposited the object into his hand, closing his fingers around it. It was surprisingly heavy, and the corners dug into his skin slightly.

"It has many uses; I am certain that you will enjoy puzzling over them." Loki smiled. A real, broad smile that made the edges of his eyes crinkle and showcased perfect teeth. It only lasted a moment, but it stuck in Tony's mind, even as the god stood and nodded once. "I must take my leave of you now. Farewell."

"W-wait-"

But he was gone.

Tony stared into the empty space, holding the cube. Loki's smile lingered in his mind.

* * *

Pepper glanced at her watch for the fourth time and heaved a sigh. She hated tardy people- it was usually a sign of inconsistency, of immaturity, of-

"Ms. Potts? Oh, _Dieu merci!_ I'm so, so sorry I'm late!"

Pepper blinked up at the frazzled young woman, who had obviously been running. "Olivia Roy?"

"Yes, yes, that's me- I'm so sorry, I have just gotten horribly lost-"

"Oh, no harm done- please, sit down." Pepper pulled out the seat beside her and the woman collapsed into it, still apologizing. "It's fine, really."

As she took a few deep breaths and accepted the offer of coffee ("_merci_, decaf"), the silence gave Pepper an opportunity to give her sudden companion a quick once-over: glossy dark-chocolate hair that was tossed and tangled by the wind, large green eyes behind sharp, angular glasses. Her bones were all narrow and delicate-looking, from her long nose to her sharp jaw. Her clothes were nice and well-matched, but wrinkled (from running through New York, presumably).

"I am sorry," Olivia repeated, clutching her cup and glancing up at Pepper. She was petite enough that Pepper felt tall in comparison, even seated. "It is my first time in this part of the city, and I left my map elsewhere."

"That's fine, really- I'm just glad that you got here safe and sound." Pepper hesitated before continuing. "If you don't mind me asking, are you-?"

"French? _Oui._ But I lived and studied in New York for many of my teenage years." As she relaxed, Olivia smoothed her hair and straightened her back, becoming more formidable by the moment. "I have returned to make my way in the art world, as New York's artists seem to thrive."

"How cool!" Pepper smiled as she went into her briefcase for the file. "Well, you'll be thriving with the best of them soon enough. The Stark Foundation for Rising Artists has chosen you to show in our gallery this season!"

Olivia's face lit up, and she pressed a hand to her cheek as though trying to contain her grin. "_Me?_ I-I... Are you _sure?_"

"Very. I had some personal input in the decision, and I'm very pleased with the result." Giving people this kind of joy was almost worth the crap she took from Tony. ""You should be proud- your talent is unbelievable."

The green eyes widened, and Olivia looked shocked for a moment before the grin widened even further. "That's so kind of you to say..."

"I mean every word. To tell you the truth, Ms. Roy, I have a ton of questions about your inspiration and your influences, but there's a ton of paperwork to get through, and lots of decisions to be made, so we'll have to go through one step at a time. There will be time for questions later."

"Of course," Olivia responded, nodding eagerly. "But please," Her head tilted slightly to one side, spilling her hair across her shoulders as her green eyes sparkled. "Call me Livy."

* * *

Odin sat rigidly at his throne, his face stony as he regarded the pair that knelt before him, bound in dull grey shackles. His lips pressed tightly together, the only sign of his reluctance and displeasure. His voice boomed out in the chamber: "My son, Loki, has committed crimes against both Asgard and Midgard, crimes for which he has yet to receive a trial. Until now, he has hidden himself from Heimdall's gaze using his sorcery; however, by moving to steal his elven staff, he has revealed himself to us. He bears a seal of magic that marked him the moment he penetrated the case. Through this brand, he may be hunted and captured so that he may be returned to Asgard to face punishment for his actions."

He let the words hang in the air before continuing. "Should you both accept the task at hand, you shall be sent to Midgard to find my son and bring him back to Asgard in exchange for full pardon of your own misdeeds."

The smaller of the two prisoners responded, head still bowed. "We shall accept your most gracious and lenient offer, Allfather, and we eagerly anticipate the opportunity to prove our repentance."

Odin nodded once, his expression still solemn, and brought the end of his spear down on the chamber floor. The chains clattered to the ground, and the hands of the hunters went to rub their raw wrists.

"Prepare yourselves for your journey," Odin rumbled, standing and aiming his staff towards them. The pair barely had time to link arms before the wave of dark energy crashed over them, leaving them reeling and tumbling in the gut-wrenching moments of the travel. They crashed to earth in a smoking mess of bitter magic residue and the remains of a Starbucks.

They stood slowly, eyeing their surroundings. "Quaint," the smaller one mused dispassionately, rubbing a bit of grit from her cheek.

Stumbling onto the street, the bulky one paid no attention to the flashing camera phones around him. "Where do we look for Loki first?" He growled. His voice was grating and thick.

"We are not here for Loki," the other replied, raising a hand before her face and summoning a handful of pale green magic. A satisfied smile crossed her face.

Her companion frowned, his great forehead crumpling like tinfoil. "But Odin's order-"

"I care not for Odin's order, Skurge." Amora gazed at the flashing lights and towering structures around her, a dangerous gleam entering her mind. "I have other plans to attend to."

* * *

**Heh. Not expecting that, were you? *cackles***

**With my computer issues and my renewed workload (curse you, job!), I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up. I will do my best, though, I promise you that!**

**Your reviews are keeping a smile on my face; you guys are just amazing. I couldn't do it without you!**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep**


	21. Chapter 21

**I'm so sorry, guys! My computer died altogether, and I had to work extra hours to get quick money for the repairs. It's running pretty well for now... *crosses fingers***

**Anyway, because of the awkward writing times, this one was put together even more shabbily than the last one. Please, please, _please _let me know if you spot any errors, no matter how small!**

**Thank you all for your patience and support!**

**Warning: The usual.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Onward!**

* * *

Pepper stifled a yawn as she turned the page and moved on to the next item of business. At her side, Livy was being a trooper, nodding occasionally and signing when necessary. At least four empty coffee cups had been pushed into a sizable pile in one corner of the table, and they were both nursing their third of the night. Livy had switched to half-caf at some point.

Pepper cleared her throat and moved on to the next document. At least the "finished" pile was larger than the "to-be-completed" pile. "Stark Industries will sign a number of documents stating to ensure that you'll receive a large sum should any of your pieces be damaged after we have gained custody-"

Livy let out a gasp, and Pepper looked up in surprise. "What is it? Are you alright?"

She didn't respond, and Pepper followed her gaze to a television screen against the wall. A small crowd of people had clustered around it and were staring. The news report was covering an explosion of a Starbucks in the northern part of the island. The video alternated between showing pictures from cell phones and live footage from the site itself.

"I'm sure that it was an accident," Pepper said, watching Livy's pale face carefully. "Who'd want to bomb a Starbucks?" She forced a small laugh.

Livy's expression didn't change. Her lips were white as they pried apart to speak. "I thought... I thought I saw..." Her eyes were unfocused slightly, but she suddenly dragged her attention from the screen to Pepper, straightening in her seat. "I apologize. I have not yet acclimated to the crime of America."

"Oh, don't worry, you're fine!" Pepper rushed. "Like I said, I'm sure it was an accident." Livy's face was calm again, but her shoulders were tense, and her knuckles were white as she clasped her hands. Hoping to calm her, Pepper put a gentle hand on her arm and opened her mouth to speak, but Livy flinched and tensed further. The hand was removed swiftly.

Unsure of what to do, Pepper cleared her throat and pulled the papers closer. "Should we continue? We're making good progress, but if you want to revisit it in the morning...?"

"What? No, no, we've come too far to stop now." She nodded once, as though reassuring herself of her own words, and looked expectantly at the document.

Pepper stared for a moment, wondering what had happened, but she quickly shook off her uncertainty and found the place where she'd stopped. "Yes, so. The company will sign a document ensuring your compensation for any pieces that are damaged after we have gained custody of them. As in, while they are being moved into the display space, or while they are being hung. But we have the best movers, and we take the every precaution to ensure their safety, so the odds of that happening are as slim as possible-"

"You will be moving them?" Livy's brow creased. "You will move them from my... from my residence?"

"Well... yes." Pepper blinked at the paperwork. "I mean, unless you'd rather bring them yourself, but our movers are the most careful in the business, so you don't need to worry about anything getting damaged. This is just in in case of a freak accident or something."

"Yes, yes, I understand." She tapped her fingers against her coffee cup, looking thoughtful. "Yes," she repeated, "that will be fine. I will need a few days to prepare the pieces for their transport, as I'm sure you know."

"Of course! We can send some people to help you, if you want...?"

"No. I will manage on my own. They are delicate, as I'm sure you are aware." Livy smiled briefly to ease the words.

Pepper nodded, though she wondered how Livy would be able to package more than thirty massive paintings on her own. She was no stranger to finicky artists, though, and didn't protest. If this woman wanted help, she would ask for it. "Right. So, sign here... and here..."

They continued almost as though nothing had happened. Pepper occasionally caught Livy glancing at the TV screen in the corner, and she hoped that New York hadn't scared the Frenchwoman too badly.

* * *

Tony popped a mouthful of popcorn, frowning at the screen. Steve's "serious face" appeared on camera (LIVE! the caption shouted), and he said something to the reporter, no doubt BS manufactured by S.H.I.E.L.D. Behind him, the smoking ruin of the Starbucks on Forty-Second Street was cordoned off by thick yellow_ Police!_ streamers.

"...probably a faulty gas main, though we can't know for sure..."

Yeah. Definitely BS.

"But Captain America," the reporter interrupted, "Witnesses are swearing that they saw someone producing a, quote, 'glowing green substance of some sort.'" Tony choked on a kernel. "Are you sure that this isn't foul play?"

Steve's face turned an odd shade of pink. "I-I'm sure that the shock of the incident has been hard on all of us," He stammered. "We shouldn't leap to any conclusions-"

"Sick, isn't it?" Clint's voice distracted Tony from the program, and he glanced up to see the archer leaning over the back of the couch to scowl properly at the TV. "It was Loki. It had to be, right? Glowing green shit is the fucker's specialty. But we can't tell the fucking _public_ just 'cause Fury's afraid of a little city-wide freak-out."

"Yeah..." Tony felt like he had freaked out enough to compensate for the whole city.

Clint shook his head in disgust. "Can't stand it..." He straightened, only to pause before heading back into the kitchen. "You wearing perfume or something?"

Tony blinked twice. "Not lately. Why?"

"Something smells like mint. Or burned mint. Or something... I don't know. Thought it might be you." He shrugged and walked away, still sniffing.

Tony stared after him before sniffing his shirt discretely. He couldn't smell anything. Maybe someone had spilled tea earlier in the day.

He turned back to the evening news. The camera was panning over the scorch marks and rubble as Steve's voice continued to lie shakily in the background. Doing his best to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach, Tony tuned out the words. There was no sense in listening to made-up, wishful thinking.

But it was better than the alternative- thinking about what had transpired earlier that day. The Juncture, the healing, the cube...

...the smile...

He forced himself away from that line of thought- it was too confusing, _way_ too confusing. Loki was _evil_, dammit! He was evil, and psychotic, and immoral, and... Tony tipped his head back, trying to think of an adjective that wasn't a synonym for "evil." The _point_ was that having any sort of attraction whatsoever to the god of mischief was completely, totally, absolutely out of the question. Probably.

Tony had still been slumped against his desk, half-asleep and regaining his senses (and trying to figure out what the hell had just _happened_), when Clint hammered on the door and announced that someone had blown up a Starbucks, and that Captain Dickhead was going to check it out on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s orders (Apparently, Clint had wanted to go try to find and/or beat up Loki, but Rogers hadn't allowed it. The archer wasn't feeling overly charitable towards the Captain, but Tony wasn't complaining. If Clint was pissed, he would be more likely to be on Tony's side in the next argument). Apparently, something about the explosion had been sketchy, but Tony had accepted the invitation to watch the newsreel (after he put on a different pair of pants, anyway) because of the "distraction" incentive.

Only, it didn't distract quite as much as he'd hoped. It seemed that Loki had been busier than Tony had foreseen.

Normally, he would hunker down in his workshop for a few days, welding and wiring and fixing and building until Pepper yelled at him enough to make him come up for air (and a shower). It was how he dealt with crazy shit, and Fury had taken it away from him. Bastard.

What's worse was that he couldn't analyse the cube that Loki had left him. He'd stared at it for a solid fifteen minutes after the god's departure, feeling its weight in his hand. But he couldn't fucking analyse it.

"Tony! Clint! How do you fare, my friends?" Thor's booming voice filled the room as the god stepped out of the elevator.

Fare. Farewell. Loki had said that, hadn't he?

He realized that his pause was disproportionate to the question, and he tripped over his tongue answering. "Yeah, I'm good."

Thor's approaching footsteps shook the living room in that familiar Thor-way until they came to a sharp stop. Tony craned his neck over the backing of the couch, about to ask if Thor wanted him to turn the volume up, but he froze at the look plastered across the god's face. It was enraged, confused, hurt... a hodgepodge of turmoil that practically exploded from his features.

"...Thor?"

"We must speak, Tony," Thor growled, surging forward to grip Tony's arm and haul him over the back of the couch.

"Ow, _ow_- what's _wrong_ with you?" Tony barked as Thor dragged him into the hallway that led to Steve's quarters, slamming the door on Clint's shouted question.

Tony found himself practically nose-to-nose with a very upset thunder god as Thor bunched his hand in the front of Tony's shirt and lifted him onto his toes. "Tell me truthfully," he rumbled, blue eyes filled with too much emotion to read clearly. "Why do you carry the scent of my brother's magic?"

Tony's mind stalled, and his heart seemed to stop altogether. The smell of mint. The burned mint. But _Tony_ couldn't smell it-! "Um. What?" He replied meekly. Thor shook him a little, making his teeth click together, but there was a beseeching quality to his gaze now.

"Do not evade my question!"

"Look, I haven't showered in a while, so maybe that has something to do with-"

"Your hygiene is of no consequence. The truth, Tony!" Thor's face was beginning to take on an unnatural red tinge.

Tony swallowed. "Look, I haven't even _seen_ Loki since... since the whole zoo thing, so-"

"Do not lie!" From up close, the flaring nostrils were downright terrifying.

"I... Thor, you've got to understand, I've got everything under control-" _Not._ "-I just-"

"Tony." There was no room in the glare for any lies. What could he say? ("No worries, Thor, I just ran into Loki on the way to the kitchen. He says hi.") There was also no time to check the rules and laws about telling people, though he was sure that there was some clause against it. If Loki appeared and tried to kill him, at least he would have someone to try to prevent his death. Or at least witness it. (Knowing Loki, it would be a pretty spectacular death.)

"Okay." Tony took a breath. Then another. "Okay. It's kind of a long story." He glanced up at Thor, not quite meeting his gaze. "And I'd kind of like to be on solid footing while I explain."

After a moment, Thor's grip loosened, and Tony's heels touched the floor safely. He contemplated running, but Thor was way too close not to catch him. In fact, he would probably end up smacking into Thor if he tried.

"Speak with haste, Tony," Thor's prompting had an impatient, almost stern tone to it. At least some of the anger had dissipated. "I grow tired of your elusory answers."

"Right." He ran a hand through his hair, grimacing as he tried to find a good place to start. "Before you freak out, I need you to remember that we're a team, and there's a lot of crazy shit I would do to keep everyone safe." A little line appeared between Thor's eyebrows, but he didn't interrupt. "So... in this case, I... well. I'm playing a game with Loki."

Thor's stony expression faltered. "A... game?"

"Well, yeah. I mean... what did you call it..." Tony wracked his brain. "The Challenge of Asgard." He waited for Loki to poof into existence and stick one of the fancy daggers in his throat.

There was a brief (Loki-less) silence before Thor let out a booming laugh. "Tony, the Challenge cannot be played anywhere but Asgard, where there are gauntlets and rules and veteran players to be the Master of the Game. It cannot be undertaken on Midgard." He shook his head, his smile broad. "My brother has fooled you."

Any hope that may have surfaced at Thor's outburst was snuffed out. "Um. That's not exactly correct, per se." Tony lifted his arm and tugged his sleeve back, revealing the gauntlet that rested against his wrist.

Thor's eyes bugged out of his head, and his mouth opened and closed senselessly for a few moments. "But... but the Master-?"

"That would be Loki." Tony almost felt bad for Thor in his obvious confusion.

"But... Loki is a _Player_ of the Game-"

"Yeah. He's kinda both." Tony stepped back and leaned against the wall as Thor stared at him, bewildered. "I know, it's unfair. But I didn't start because I thought it would be fair, I did it so that he wouldn't-" he stopped just short of saying_ kill us all_, substituting, "-do anything irrational."

Thor took a step back, as though he wanted to pace but had forgotten how. After a moment, his face tightened with purpose, and his shoulders straightened. "We must discuss this in my quarters. There, you may tell me the story in its entirety." There was no room for argument in his firm expression, and Tony nodded glumly, following him back into the living room.

Clint stood by the kitchen counter, pouring half-caf coffee into a mug. He glanced up at them with suspicion as they headed towards the elevator. "You guys making out or something?"

"Not even a little," Tony responded as the doors slid open smoothly.

"Right. Sure. And you're sneaking upstairs together because...?" Clint raised his eyebrows, lifting the mug to his lips.

"How is this sneaking? Thor walks like the troll from Harry Potter - no offense," he added to Thor as the doors sealed themselves and the elevator moved skyward.

Despite the banter, the silence that ensued was that of the horribly awkward and all-around horrible variety. Tony sneaked a few glances at Thor, but upon seeing the deeply furrowed brow, he decided against talking until it was absolutely necessary.

That turned out to be a full minute later, when Tony was facing Thor across the den area where they had previously gotten drunk (Tony _wished_ he was drunk). Thor sat in the center of the couch, his hands clasped in his lap. Tony shifted in his chair, uncomfortable at the god's silence and scrutiny.

"Tell me what has transpired, and why you chose to conceal it from us."

Just then, Tony remembered that Thor was supposed to be a king one day. It suddenly made a whole lot of sense, what with the whole "commanding you like a motherfucking boss" attitude.

He cleared his throat and opened his mouth to begin. Then he closed it again. Then he opened it. The cycle went on for a while before Tony let out an uncomfortable huff of breath. "...you know, I can't do this sober. I just can't. Where do you keep the ale in this joint?" His head still ached slightly from the teleportation, and weariness tugged at his eyelids.

Thor pursed his lips for a few moments before standing and making his way to an enormous wardrobe that sat regally in the corner. He pulled the doors open, and Tony stared.

"...that's a lot of ale." The sole contents of the wardrobe seemed to be a massive barrel of ale with a spout at the base.

"Indeed," Thor rumbled, reaching for two bucket-sized mugs on the ground nearby. "But do not think that you and I will deviate from the topic at hand after we engage in drink. You_ will_ relay the events that have preceded this."

"Yeah, yeah," Tony muttered, accepting the bucket that was offered. The smell was ghastly but familiar, and he took a sip gingerly as Thor sat back down across from him. He grimaced at the taste and considered running to his room for some scotch instead, but he wasn't sure that Thor would allow it.

"So," he began, taking a larger swallow. "It started with this stupid book."

* * *

He made it through the events of the past week in a bucket and a half- maybe forty minutes or so. He'd been thorough, detailing everything from the press conference to the zoo to the staffs. Thor had stayed surprisingly logical and calm for most of it, stopping him occasionally to ask questions:

"Could you not have consulted me prior to accepting the challenge?" ("I didn't sense a lot of patience on his end, Thor.")

"Why did you not collect a prize for winning the first challenge?" ("Because I was too stupid to remember to ask for anything.")

"Did my brother say anything at all about why he chose to engage you in this game?" (Tony had thoroughly evaded that question, muttering something vague before moving on.)

For the most part, Thor was good about listening and nodding along; however, when he got to the bit about the scepters, Thor interrupted once more

"It... it was you who stole Loki's staff?" His face was slack with hurt. "And also the one from the chitauri?"

Tony gulped ale, ignoring Thor's gaze. "Yeah."

Thor nodded blankly, hands rigid on his mug. "And where are they presently?"

He explained (a little sheepishly) that Loki had taken both. Thor furrowed his brow but gestured for Tony to continue anyway.

"Right, so, yeah. I gave him the chitauri one by mistake, since I didn't know that there was another one. He kept it. He'd healed my vertigo after taking me back to my room, so he called us even and just kinda left with it. Then I got the other one from the pool hall-," The corners of Thor's mouth turned down. "-and I hid it until he called the Juncture this afternoon."

"But if that is the case, then you were the one to steal Loki's knives!" Thor interjected, jumping slightly in his chair as though the sudden realization had smacked him over the head.

Tony pushed a hand through his hair, wincing. "Yeah. I thought... I don't know, I thought I would trade them for something. I was kinds curious to see what he'd do, you know? It was just an impulse. Didn't really pan out the way I expected, though, since I ended up stabbing myself-"

Thor jerked in his seat, eyes wide. "You are injured?"

"Not anymore." Tony interjected hastily. "Loki healed me in exchange for one of the knives at the Juncture."

"... Oh?" Thor sat back slowly, his brow crumpled as he. "That is the... fourth time that he has done so?"

"Something like that." Tony lifted his mug to take another drink, but the look on Thor's face gave him pause. "What? Is that bad?" He imagined himself sprouting green tentacles from over-exposure to magic, and his stomach tightened.

"No, not at all, it is simply... unexpected."

Tony raised his eyebrows. "Unexpected how?"

Thor eyed Tony carefully, as though he was looking for something. "In the past, Loki only healed those that he thought of as his closest friends, or those who needed his services most desperately. And he would never heal a person that he believed deserved the wound."

That was... weird. Tony thought unintentionally of the smile before taking a gulp of ale to distract himself. "Well... he said something about matching generosity with generosity. Maybe he was just being fair."

Thor nodded slowly, looking unconvinced as he continued to stare at Tony. Uncomfortable under the intense gaze, Tony cleared his throat and took another swig from the mug, continuing the story. "So, yeah. I gave him the sceptre, he healed me, then he teleported us back to the Mansion and he left."

"That is all?"

"That's all. Oh, not quite- he gave me this little green cube-thing in exchange for the last knife. I left it in my room. Don't want it falling out of my pocket at dinner, you know?"

Thor frowned. "A... green cube?"

"Yeah. Why? It's not toxic or anything, is it?"

Thor shook his head. "I do not know of a cube that holds any significance, nor do I know why Loki would choose such a thing as a gift to complete your exchange. I would greatly appreciate the opportunity to examine it."

Tony took a gulp of ale. He knew he was drunk when it started to taste good. "Is that allowed? I didn't even think that I could tell anyone about the game."

"Did you not study the Rules of the Game and the Laws of Juncture?" Thor asked, surprised. "If Loki has deprived you of them, then he is playing most unfairly."

Hadn't Loki said something similar during a Juncture? Was it really so shocking that he hadn't memorized them? Maybe Asgardians had photographic memories. "No, I read them. I just don't know them backwards and forwards, alright?"

"I see. It is not advisable that you enter the game without basic knowledge, Tony."

He scowled, raising his mug to his mouth again before speaking. "Yeah, well, the circumstances didn't leave a whole lot of time for taking notes. Since Loki hasn't come to chop off my head, I'm guessing that telling people is allowed?"

Thor didn't look too pleased about the jab at Loki, but he nodded anyway. "Indeed. You may tell as many people as you wish, but only players and masters may handle the Books of the Game. Additionally, you may not receive any aid whatsoever from any outside parties."

"Huh. Good to know."

Thor nodded. "Yes. Now that you know the true nature of the Game, you will tell the others about your involvement."

Tony stared at a small stain on the carpet, trying to think. "No," he said after a few long moments. "I don't think I will." At Thor's overloud protest, he raised his voice to continue. "What'll they do, Thor? Fury would gut me for handing over the scepters, and Clint and Natasha would probably help him. Then, once they were done with that, they would try to lock me up or use me to try to capture Loki. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't be too pleased about that. Fury would get his greedy hands on the Book, and I would be penalized or disqualified or _something_. Even if they backed off and let me get on with it on my own, they would never look at me the same way- no, _listen_. Clint hates that scepter more than he hates Loki, and if he found out that I was the one to bring the two together again, he would never forgive me, game or no game." Thor's expression was dark, but he no longer looked as though he would argue quite so readily.

"Tony, I am sure that our friends would understand the nature of your... thievery..."

He shook his head, trying to ignore the bitterness that was creeping into his blood and pounding in his temples. "It's nice that you think that, Thor, but let's be serious. You understand because you've played before, but they won't get it."

Thor looked sullen. "I understand your fears, Tony. My brother has wronged you by putting you in so precarious a position. However, you now have my help whenever it is needed."

Tony looked up sharply. "But that's against the rules. No help, remember?"

"During Challenges, yes. However, any questions about the Game itself may be answered without consequence."

"Oh. That would've been nice to know earlier."

"Yes. I learned every rule by heart. It will be a pleasure to aid you." Thor smiled a bit, and it looked feral. "It has been far too long since I have played. I wish my brother had chosen to challenge me rather than you."

"You and me both," Tony muttered, taking a swig of ale. A bit sloshed onto his shirt. He remembered something briefly. "Hey... you _smelled_ Loki's magic on me." Thor made a low grunt of confirmation. "That's creepy."

The god furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to say something, but instead he looked past Tony, at the door to the pool hall. "Did you hear a noise, Tony?"

"What? No-"

There was a crash and a sharp vocalization, a foreign curse. Thor was on his feet and running for the door, hand outstretched to call Mjölnir before Tony could get to his feet. He charged after the god, almost crashing into him as he came to an abrupt stop in the doorway.

"Thor, what- oh, _shit._"

Craning his neck around Thor's bulk, he could see a tall figure, darkly dressed, standing in the center of the room.

Loki turned slightly, casting a vicious smile before springing into a blur of motion.

"Down!" Thor roared, twisting and shoving Tony onto the floor. A dagger buried itself in the doorframe where Tony's head had been. As he blinked at it, Tony realized that it had scalloped edges.

Then there was a blinding flare of green light that made Tony's eyes sting and water, and he blinked heavily in the moments after.

Thor made a sound halfway between a choking and a growling as he surged to his feet, gripping either side of the doorframe with each hand. "He... he has taken..."

Tony scrambled to his feet, wishing that he hadn't forced down so much ale. The room spun for a moment before it righted itself, and he was able to comprehend the scene in front of him. From the doorway to the opposite wall was a bare expanse of carpet, riddled with crop-circle dust patterns and indentations where stacks of possessions had once idled.

"...did he just take-"

"Everything." Thor interrupted. His voice was like gravel. "He took everything that belonged to him, as I thought he would."

Tony was quiet for a single moment. "Actually, I was going to point out that he took my pool tables."

* * *

After a few minutes (or twenty-seven) of calming Thor down and swearing him to secrecy, Tony detached himself from the god's presence and trooped back to his room. (Unaccompanied, too- but what Fury didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Mostly.) He intended to drink a little (lot of) scotch to wash the ale taste out of his mouth and settle in for another fifteen-hour slumber session.

Those plans were put on hold as he walked into his room and saw his sigh come out as a puff of milky vapor. "JARVIS? Have you gotten tired of our healthy sixty-five degree temperature?"

_I have attempted to maintain our usual settings, Sir, but I'm afraid the cooling factor is stronger than our heating system. It is most unusual._

"Yeah, well. Just let me know right away next time." Tony made his way to the dresser and pulled the book and the pen - and, after a moment's thought, the green cube - out of the tie-drawer. "Can't you just learn to text?" He muttered, cracking the book open to the correspondence page as he settled on the bed, pulling the blanket over his shoulders.

There were two elegant lines of text on the paper:

_**I do hope that you enjoyed my knife-throwing demonstration. You requested it, after all.**_

Then:

_**Next time, kindly refrain from cluing my brother in on our Game.**_

* * *

**Ehehehe...**

**I should be able to update more regularly now, my lovelies! I'll do my best to have the next chapter up soon. Pinky-swear!**

**I can't thank you all enough for the kindness and support that you provide me with. I couldn't do it without you guys!**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep.**

**P.S.: OH, I almost forgot: we have fanart! WHOO! I'm going to ask the artist's permission to put up a link on my profile, so keep an eye out!**


	22. Chapter 22

**I'm sorry for the wait, guys- I re-wrote this chapter four times and I'm _still _not satisfied with it. It just wouldn't come out right. (And my computer dying twice didn't help, either.)**

**Anyway, as usual, please alert me to any errors that you spot! Someone was kind enough to tell me that I've been spelling "Midgard" incorrectly. *Facepalm* Don't let me make a fool of myself!**

**Warnings: Minor angst, plus the usual.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Tony read and re-read the lines of script with a shiver, thinking back to their encounter earlier that day. He'd been more focused on the cube and the smile than the vague promise of a demonstration of knife-throwing. Perhaps more worrisome was the insinuation - no, the blatant statement - that Loki had been listening in on Tony and Thor. The thought made Tony check the corners of the room for mischief gods or other bogeymen. After determining that he was alone, he turned back to the paper. The letters swam a little in his vision, and he squinted to consolidate them before grabbing the pen.

**_Spying isn't very fair._** He wrote the words quickly, before he could worry about any consequences. Provoking the god wasn't a great idea, but he was feeling drunk and cranky.

The reply was almost immediate.

_**Neither is running to Thor for aid.**_

**_I didn't__ do that_**, Tony scribbled hastily, glaring at the paper. This was such a third-grade argument to be having with Loki. **_Thor_**

He paused. How to explain this?

**_Thor...?_** Loki prompted.

Tony frowned and pressed the pen to the paper. **_Thor knew that you had healed me._**

There was a pause. **_How? _**

**_He could smell the magic. _**Looking at the words on the page, Tony felt silly. And kind of weirded out all over again.

_**He could **_**smell_ it?_**

**_Yeah. I was creeped out, too._**

**_I am not "creeped out."_**

Tony snorted. _**Sure you're not.**_

_**I was aware that an object or person that receives magic carries a certain burnt aroma after the spell's completion. I was not aware that it was strong enough to be detected, especially after time had passed.**_

_**You're still creeped out.**_

_**We have deviated from the point,**_ Loki wrote swiftly. Though his handwriting remained precise, Tony could imagine him getting irritated on the other end. **_I am sure that you could have devised a passable excuse for carrying the scent of magic rather than giving in so easily. I thought you were more inventive than that._**

Tony scowled, preparing to rant and rail against Loki's high-and-mighty accusations, but then he paused. He slowly took the pen away from the paper, leaving a minuscule black dot on the white page as he reread the lines. The words were almost a complement.

_**He could tell that it was yours. Your magic. **_ There was a pause and Tony added, smirking,_** Are you creeped out yet?**_

**_No. _**The answer was instantaneous, and Tony snorted again. **_Even so, I suspect that you could have given a reason why without spoiling the Game._**

**_Name one._**

**_You were studying my books and happened upon an amulet that glowed oddly before dissolving in your grip. Perhaps it left traces of magic upon you._**

Tony stared at the paper. **_There was no amulet._****_  
_**

**_A brilliant deduction, Stark. It was a hypothetical statement._**

Tony could practically taste the exasperation. _**He would know that I was lying. I'm not much of a book-person.**_

**_I do not care for excuses._**

He narrowed his eyes. **_Well, you tried to kill me, so we're even._**

_**Your dramatics are unnecessary and childish. Had I desired to so much as scratch you, you would not be currently unscathed. As it is, I was certain that he would rescue you.**_

He bristled, his eyes lingering on the words "childish" and "rescue."

**_He didn't _rescue _me. I could've ducked._**

_**My mistake, then.**_

Tony could almost hear the sarcasm in the response, and his temper flared. He could easily imagine Loki speaking the things that he wrote; he could picture the disparaging look on the god's face, so similar to the one Howard Stark used to wear...

His pen dug into the paper too hard as he added:

**_Besides, you blew up a Starbucks. No casualties, but still, didn't that make you _****_feel__ better?_**

There was a long pause. Tony reached for the nearest bottle of alcohol, taking a healthy swig as he waited. He nearly spat it out when the response came:

**_I did no such thing._**

Tony stared at the words, a disbelieving laugh bubbling up in his throat. Loki obviously thought that he was a total idiot. **_I saw it on the news.__ Someone destroyed a Starbucks with glowing green stuff. So sorry if I jumped to the obvious conclusion._**

**_I will not defend myself against such accusations._**

**_I don't think the God of Lies is allowed to get touchy when people don't believe him._**

There was no reply, and eventually Tony slammed the book and rested his full attention on the alcohol in his hands, ignoring the uneasy prickling on the back of his neck.

* * *

Loki threw down his pen and pushed himself back from the table, fists clenched at his sides. Through closed eyelids, he could still see the black words written in Stark's inelegant scrawl.

**_...didn't that make you feel better?_**

**_...obvious conclusion._**

**_...God of Lies..._**

**_No casualties, but still..._**

**_...people don't b__elieve__ him._**

His nails drew blood in his palms as the oil lamp on his bedside table shattered, sending him into momentary darkness before the flames leaped to chase the spilled oil across his carpet. Loki stared at the flickering orange dispassionately before restoring the greedy tongues of flame to their container with a brusque wave.

Losing control. How juvenile.

Another wave fixed the blackened burn, though the smell of smoke remained in the air. The barest hint of mint lingered as well.

He cast his eyes about his room, looking for something that could take a magical beating, but nothing presented itself. The bed, tall and dressed in green, was far too soft. Even the twisting black metal of the frame would bend and bow after a few meager strikes. The same restrictions applied to the curtains, the desk, the chair, the carpet.

Loki let out a frustrated breath. The walls of his rooms in Asgard had been made of stone, durable enough to absorb whatever magic he aimed at it during his rare episodes of lapsed control (everyone has bad days). He missed that release, but at the same time, he knew that he should conserve the excess magic that welled up at Stark's provocation. He needed it desperately, but the urge to unleash his temper was nearly as strong as his not-inconsiderable control.

**_...don't think the God of Lies is allowed to get touchy when people don't believe him._**

Familiar words, spoken in jest by Thor, in earnest by his adoptive mother and father, in thinly veiled disgust by former friends and servants that thought he couldn't hear. They sent barbs deep into his stomach, each stab of cold pain fueled by (hurt) outrage and fury.

But Loki smoothed his features into a mask of indifference for his own benefit and took a deep breath, pulling the magic down from his fingers, pulling it through his hands, wrists, forearms, shoulders, pulling until it was compressed into his chest where it roiled and strained against his control.

His eyes fluttered open as something hot and wet slid between his fingers, and he pried his hands apart with a scowl. The gouges in his palms had gone deeper than usual, and blood had made his fingers slick and dark in the lamplight, especially thick beneath his nails. He focused on it, pulling a strip of magic from the plethora beneath his ribs and using it to pull the blood back into his veins. Drops slithered towards his palm, clustering and collapsing into one another before slipping into the crescents with a squirming sensation. The skin mended itself, leaving his skin tingling pleasantly.

Loki glanced once at the book before shutting it gently (a testament to his control) and heading for the door. There was work to be done. Perhaps it would quiet the accusations in his mind (**_...tried to kill__ me..._**).

He stepped into the largest living room, flicking his fingers at the walls to light the candles. There were hundreds, all different sizes and colors. The walls were stained slightly by the reflected tones of the wax. Loki detested the glaring lights with which these rooms were equipped- they reminded him of the similar ones that had blinded him during his stay aboard Nicholas Fury's flying behemoth. Besides, he was rather fond of fire.

His belongings, thieved from Thor's rooms, were scattered around the space in bulky piles. Loki banished the knickknacks to the mantle with a sharp jab, sending the glass vials to the kitchen counter a moment later. He sent his clothing to the bedroom, closing his eyes to make sure that they folded themselves before slipping into the dresser. The feel of magic bursting from his skin receded as he pinched away scraps of it to organize. These spells were the simplest, among the first that he had learned, and they took less power combined than a single offensive blast.

At least, that's what he told himself to silence the part of him that still wanted to jump out of his window to the street below and initiate something chaotic, something that would gain him the wrong kind of attention. Skurge and Amora would surely notice if he began to blow up cars, no matter how amusing it was to watch the Midgardians scatter in the streets like ants.

Though the anger had faded to a dull thrumming in his temples by the time the last few items were in their proper places, the boredom was returning stronger than ever. Loki pushed his hair out of his face, grimacing at nothing in particular. Always with the _boredom__._ He shouldn't be bored- if anything, he should have plenty to busy himself with, preparing for the next challenge or fortifying his home against Skurge and Amora.

But those things were _expected_, and he hated the expected. He could always anticipate things better than most people - not in a foreseeing way, merely in an observant, usually-accurate prediction based on fact. But the trouble with that was that, by the time it arrived, he was already bored to death with it.

Stark served as a marvelous distraction most days. He could spend hours researching the man, and plotting the Game had served as a delicious task for the past month. However, the man's skills and background could not fully compensate for his occasional presumption and lack of tact.

**_...people don't believe him._**

Loki's nails were digging into his palms again, and he took a breath. No, Stark would not be a suitable distraction tonight. The mere thought of him brought back that confusing burn of emotions below Loki's collarbone, and that wouldn't do wonders for his already-strained control.

What, then?

His eyes focused on the room before him, and he tilted his head to one side. He had been identifying everything by essence, eyes half-closed as he directed them by feel and instinct. He hadn't realized that he had taken more than he had intended from his- from _Thor's_ room.

The large room held eight bulky, unusual-looking tables, scattered among the other, more delicate furniture. In the candlelight, their colors turned from brown to black and from fern to forest. There was a pattern dyed into the center of each one, something curling... Loki lifted his fingers, easing the candle flames into fuller, taller beams of light until he could make out the letters: an ornate _S_ surrounding a smaller _A_ and_ E_.

Anthony Edward Stark. Of course.

Loki stepped forward, leaning to stroke the odd material of the table. It was a rough sort of fabric, not one that he had encountered before. He trailed a finger along it until he reached the edge, surprised by the hole that he discovered. It was not in Stark's nature to keep broken things- but a glance showed that each table held the same holes in the same places. Loki reached into one hesitantly, surprised at the smooth, cold something that he found.

He pulled the ball of stone from its hiding place, eyeing it warily. It had a decent heft to it and was a dark, solid red, with a white circle and the midgardian number seven in the center. Stark's initials were painted in delicate strokes on the back. Loki tossed the orb into the air once, twice, pondering it with exaggerated care.

_**...didn't that make you feel better?**_

He twisted and hurled it towards the window. The smashing glass sent delighted shivers down his spine.

It was with regret that he stretched out a hand, stopping the progress of the sphere and the falling shards. He slowly curled his fingers into a fist, watching as the fragments slithered up to fill the frame and united with a muted flash of green. The ball hovered before him, Stark's initials staring him in the face.

Loki picked it from the air like an apple from a tree, turning it so that the seven faced him instead.

The second shriek of shattering glass was almost better than the first, and Loki relished in the chorus of chimes before stopping the descent again and returning the orb to his hand. It was a beautiful sound, truly. Wild and dangerous and delicate. He tapped one finger on the surface, musing. There were a great many windows in the city...

Turning, he glanced into the dark hole at the corner of the table. A smile parting his lips as he saw at least three more glinting in the candles' glow.

This could be fun.

* * *

The alarm blared, and Tony jerked upright, almost spilling scotch over his chest. "JARVIS? What's the situation?" He called, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and dashing for the door, not caring that the book went tumbling to the floor. The horizon tilted, and he caught himself against the wall.

JARVIS explained as, stumbling every few steps, he bolted towards the elevator.

_It would seem that there is a bit of trouble on the corner of Seventh Avenue and Thirty-Fourth Street. The exact cause and method of destruction is unknown, and S.H.I.E.L.D. has requested our help to ensure that it is not the preamble to a more serious attack. The atmosphere is a bit chaotic. _

"Right. On my way." He punched the elevator button three times in rapid succession, only to back off when the doors opened immediately.

Armed to the teeth, Clint and Natasha stared out at him for a moment before they exchanged knowing glances. "Stark," Natasha began, but Clint cut her off.

"Tony, I know you want to help, but you need to stay here like Fury said." He fingered his bow, looking chagrined. "You can... watch on the news."

Tony gazed at them uncomprehendingly, his eyebrows lowered. "But... you need me."

Natasha interrupted Clint's apology with rapid, stern words. "Even if you weren't under house arrest, you're practically sweating scotch. Get back to your room and stay there, or I'll take you to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s containment facility first thing in the morning. I promise you that."

Face impassive, she leaned across Clint and pushed a button, and the elevator doors closed in Tony's shocked face.

* * *

Loki stood on the corner of the roof high above the scene, watching as two more vehicles with flashing lights approached the wildness below. He crouched just long enough to scoop up another ball before lifting it to his mouth.

Loki murmured three words of magic against the smooth surface, waited two moments, and flung the orb towards the intended target.

It knifed through the air, picking up speed before swerving unnaturally and tearing through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the fortieth floor of the building across the street. The cacophonous crashing and breaking brought a broad smile to Loki's face as he watched the glittering dust descend.

Explosions were more fun, yes, he mused as he observed the dot-like people below scattering like animals. But they were ungainly methods of attack. Explosions were devised for the benefit of other people- to cause intimidation, fright, injury.

Loki wasn't doing this for other people. This was simply something for himself, a distraction to take the edge off of the dagger-like anger that slid through his veins and cure the boredom that always prickled his hands when they idled.

And besides, he wasn't intending to launch an attack tonight- only entertain himself until the sun rose. What was so wrong about breaking a little glass?

A heavy gust of wind crashed over him, and he looked up languidly as his straightened against the chill. Dank black thunderheads were gathering with fierce gusto, eclipsing the stars. Loki clicked his tongue in disapproval as a fork of lightning split the sky a ways away. Thor would do more damage with his overzealous storm than Loki himself would. Tonight, anyway.

But surely Thor wouldn't arrive unaccompanied? Loki eyed the streets that criss-crossed below and spotted the huge black car that was rocketing towards his building. A smirk threatened to overtake his delighted smile. How amusing- he broke a few windows and they came running to protect the masses.

Loki scanned the sky for the briefest of moments, seeking the glow of Stark's technology, but all that met his gaze was another flash of lightning. (He was _not _disappointed.)

He dropped his gaze to the careful stack of spheres before summoning another to his hand, whispering to it before he flung it to the street below. A smile curled across his face as it arced to the side and tore through another row of windows, sending the glass into a chorus of screaming and chiming.

He let the wind buffet him as he closed his eyes, drinking in the sounds of shattering and the faint shrieks from the valley between the buildings. Majestic.

A roar infiltrated the symphony, and Loki's eyes snapped open in irritation. Thor. Always such an unwelcome distraction.

He could just make out his- make out _Thor_ manipulating the winds a few buildings away to stay aloft as he searched. Loki was cloaked in darkness that would never be penetrated, but... He crossed his arms, watching the bulky form pitch and roll in the winds, still bellowing. Perhaps he wished to have words with Thor after all. After a moment of consideration, he dropped the cloak and and brought his hands together, sending a brilliant flare of green into the sky.

Thor immediately whirled towards him, cape flapping as he hurtled towards Loki's roof.

Loki snorted as he approached. Thor showed no signs of slowing as he aimed for Loki, Mjölnir outstretched. He took a deep breath and doubled himself, leaving his duplicate in Thor's path just before the oaf went careening through it to tumble across the roof. There was a sharp crack of stone as he hit the opposite ledge.

"Brother!" He shouted, clambering to his feet and staring around wildly.

Loki shook his head and summoned another orb as he stepped forward, lit by another flash of lightning. "That title does not fit me any longer. Why can you never deign to remember that?"

Thor stared, slightly out of breath from his landing. He looked as though he was unsure whether or not to be angry or sad or confused. (Though the last one was a default of sorts.) He took a step forward but halted when Loki tensed. He swallowed, seeming to search for words. "There is so much that I would say to you, Loki, I can hardly chose a place to begin."

"Decide as you see fit," Loki shrugged, opening his hand and summoning another orb. "I am otherwise occupied for the time being."

"Stop!" Thor barked, lurching forward as Loki sent it careening towards the next set of windows. He watched Thor's eyes widen as the glass was torn to pieces. The blues then latched onto Loki, wider than ever. "Why do you do this?"

"I am bored." He turned away, stepping back onto the corner of the building in time to see the glass turn to dust as it hit the ground below. "You should be grateful. There are such worse things that I could do."

"Have you not made Tony Stark the cure for your boredom, brother?"

Loki controlled the automatic tensing of his shoulders, forcing a calm expression on his face. "I am not your-"

"The question stands, Loki." Thor's voice adopted the king-like quality that Loki envied and despised.

"Yes, yes. Stark. The two of you have grown close, I imagine? Bonding as you determine the superior method of besting me?" Loki managed to keep the bitterness out of his tone, but it was difficult. Thor always ruined _everything_, always had to interfere and make himself the center of everyone's thoughts and attentions.

He couldn't see Thor's face, but his voice echoed the thunder that crashed around them in surging blasts. "You have wronged him, involving him in the Challenge of Asgard without teaching him properly-"

"Now who avoids the question?"

"-making yourself Master of the Game, an unbeatable position-"

"It is no matter, honestly. I'm sure the two of you will soon devise a means of beating me into submission, no matter how _unbeatable_-"

"You _will _release him from his obligation!"

"I will do no such thing!" Loki whirled, his eyes flashing. The anger, so tame a moment ago, reared its head and snarled. A deep breath calmed the beast, and his voice was steady and cold as he continued. "I offered, and he accepted. There is no stopping the Game until has reached its completion."

He stretched out a hand, and another orb flew into his grasp. "Now, then. If you have no other topics to discuss, I am busy." He lifted it to his mouth, watching Thor's eyes follow the movement as he whispered into it. He smirked.

Thor leaped forward with a roar as Loki threw, but he wasn't quick enough, and the sound of smashing mixed with the howling wind. Loki laughed under his breath and watched as the gale took hold of the shards and turned them against those foolish enough to linger in the streets. He beckoned another, using the fresh, fury-induced energy pulsing at his fingertips-

Thor's hand closed roughly on Loki's arm and he twisted away with a snarl, almost sending them both over the edge. The sphere dropped over the side of the building, disappearing. Thor's eyes begged him. "Brother-"

"_Wrong._" Loki stepped away from the hands that tried to steady him, mindless of his distance to the void behind him.

Thor's face was open and morose. "If it ails you, then we need not discuss the past at present. But, Loki, _please._ Why have you done this to Tony?"

Tony. It fit better than _Stark_. Not that he would ever admit it. "Because I am-"

"No. Boredom has never driven you to these lengths in the past." The look in his eyes was surprisingly wise for such a buffoon. "What's more, you do not heal because you are bored. He means something to you."

Loki recoiled, a harsh laugh raking over his tongue before he could stop it. "Don't be such a child."

"Is that what I am?" The intensity of the stare was disturbing, but Loki met it evenly, adding venom to his own gaze.

"What else could you be, speaking a child's words?" Loki turned, facing out into the storm. A raindrop struck his cheekbone. "Summon Stark if you wish. He will dispel any misconceptions you may have of my reasons." And yet, the thought of seeing Stark's accusing face made his hands twitch into fists.

"He is confined to our home. You will not find him in the skies tonight."

"Confined?" Stark had said something about that, hadn't he? Loki frowned, confusion stalling his temper. The skies rumbled and split open above them, and cold water chilled his exposed face and soaked through his hair. "The... arrest?"

"Yes." Thor paused. "He has been accused of aiding you in your... misdeeds."

The splattering rain was the only sound as Loki stared unseeingly at the sky, minimizing his outward reaction. He wanted to laugh at Stark's situation, but, as usual, the logical side of his mind spoke more assertively. Stark's containment would hamper his plans if it lasted more than a week. Loki would need to take care of that himself somehow...

"Yes, well. I believe that I shall take my leave of you, Thor. Do mind the glass."

Thor moved quickly enough to halt him this time, and Loki, glaring, clawed the hand from his wrist and took a few cautioning steps back. His movements were steady despite the wet, slick stone beneath his boots. He lifted an eyebrow, his gaze cold. "You need not worry about Stark. He is no use to me dead."

Blue eyes were clear in a flash of lightning as Thor stepped forward, blonde hair swinging in wet strands. "Brother-"

Loki snapped a hand towards Thor's chest, sending him tumbling from the roof with a flash of green energy. Anger and pain roared in his blood, raw and harsh, as he watched the shape tumble into the void between the buildings.

"I."

He summoned the remaining six spheres.

"Am not."

He clenched his fists, sending magic into each one.

"Your _brother._"

He splayed his fingers, sending each orb rocketing down to earth.

They swooped forward, skinning the glass from the building from top to bottom before smashing into the ground, drawing shrieks and yells. Loki's eyes fluttered shut, and he hissed in a rain-scented breath before teleporting home.

* * *

**Loki kinda took over. *shrugs***

**Next chapter will be up pretty soon, assuming my computer quits failing. (I think it needs a specialist...)**

**ALSO: the link for the fanart is on my profile. Go see! I think it's awesome. *grins***

**Thank you all for being so patient and awesome and for reviewing so consistently! You have no idea how much I appreciate your feedback and support.**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep.**

**P.S.: Thor isn't dead, or even that badly wounded. Just clarifying...**


	23. Chapter 23

**Welcome back, everyone!**

**I came _thisclose _to splitting this chapter into two pieces, but I figured that you guys deserved a long chapter after being so patient. So, congrats- it's the longest one ever! *Bows to raucous cheering***

** However, you should know that**** I shifted the pieces of this chapter around a _lot _to try to get it to fit properly, so please let me know if you notice any discontinuity, no matter how small!**

**Warning: Not mine.**

**Disclaimer: The usual.**

* * *

Moonlight fell through the arching windows in sheets, spilling across the floor and lapping at the edges of pedestals and plaques. The inside of the museum was dark and still and silent, each noteworthy artifact patiently awaiting the visitors that descended daily in droves.

No alarms sounded as the glass cases vanished.

Amora stepped among the relics, one finger tapping her chin as the evaluated them one by one. Egyptian statues. Germanic weapons. Mesopotamian tablets. Any one of them could hold the key.

Behind her, Skurge scuffed the toes of his boots on the floor and swung his massive head from side to side, keeping an uneasy lookout. "I do not understand. Why are we here? This is a place for mortals."

"It is a place for old, powerful things that the mortals attempt to appreciate with eyes alone." She stepped forward and placed both of her hands on a carving of Anubis, the jackal-headed god. She closed her eyes, a pale green glow emanating form her hands and casting sickly shadows onto the walls around them. A small crease appeared between her brows, and she opened her eyes as she stepped back. "No. Not this one..."

"I still don't understand-"

Amora whirled, eyes flashing. "Then when will you? What we seek is ancient, Skurge. It will not have bonded onto a fresh-faced mortal or a decades-old monument. It sought something closer to its age, something comforting and tremendous in its years. Don't you see that-"

"Hey!"

Their heads snapped around to take in the newcomer. It was a paunchy man with sparse hair and a shaking flashlight. He stared, wide-eyed. "You're not supposed to be... to be..." His mouth went slack in fear as he took in the massive ax strapped to Skurge's back. He reached for his hip, grappling with a walkie-talkie.

"Skurge." Amora turned back to the objects, pressing a hand to an arrowhead. "Take care of it."

She closed her eyes and focused on the dull edges beneath her fingers, ignoring the scream of agony and fear that was silenced with a wet tearing of flesh. She sent a pulse of magic through the arrowhead, tasting the blood of a thousand battles on her tongue but nothing more. It was old, yes, but ordinary as can be. She tore her hand away with a grimace, reaching for the next object.

"Can we not ask Loki where it is?" Skurge rumbled as he made his way back to his vantage point in the center of the room. His footsteps made the building tremble.

"If he knew, he would possess it," She hissed, glaring out of the corner of her eye. "Now leave me be. I must concentrate."

He hunched his shoulders slightly, reprimanded, and Amora forced a kind smile after a moment. "Skurge," She purred, sidling towards him. "Darling. You know that I care more deeply for you than any other. You are my world." He lifted his massive head as she touched his cheek. "But we are threatened by Odin and his brood. I require this, and when I control it, I will be able to protect us. You understand, my love?" She widened her eyes, still smiling softly.

Skurge's eyebrows were scrunched together on his meaty face, but he nodded dully after a moment. "Yes, Amora. I understand."

"Good." She patted him on the cheek and returned her attention to the artifacts. "Then be silent and let me work."

She reached for the next one, blind to the beady eyes that appraised her from beyond the window's glass. The bird glared fiercely at her, watching as she moved from one to the next. After a few minutes of observing it took flight, soaring off into the night and aiming for the apartment complexes that towered over the museum, eclipsing the stars and sky.

The wind was terribly cool as it pressed against its feathers- it was barely April, but the north winds were continuously frigid at night. The bird paid no attention to the temperature as it ascended to the top of one of the taller buildings and swooped towards the enormous, softly lit windows of the penthouse.

Loki shifted forms in time to grab the sill, grimacing as his booted feet slipped against the slick glass of the lower window and the chilled metal bit into his palms. He pulled himself up and into the room easily before shutting the window quickly behind him. He owned the whole floor, a relief at a time like this- if he was interrupted now, there was no telling what he would do.

His palms stung, but he didn't spare them a glance as he healed them. His teeth ground together as he stalked into the room, making a circuit before he could consciously decide to pace. The residual anger had faded, but his nerves felt raw under the new development.

Amora knew. Of _course_ she knew. Loki's hand tried to twitch into a fist, but he contained the instinct, turning on his heel with a snarl to return to the window. His heart beat unsteadily as he gazed outside, resisting the urge to yank the curtains closed and hide himself away. He was lucky, _so _lucky to have noticed the quiet flares of magic in the museum. It was pure chance that he had been paying attention tonight after his temper tantrum.

His thoughts returned to the glaring obstacle, and his mouth tightened further.

She knew. How _incredibly _unfortunate.

(The two words seemed to echo in his very heartbeat. She knew, she knew, she_ knew._..)

It was his own fault- he should have spent the past few months searching, not playing foolish games with Stark. There was no real need to involve the billionaire. Loki could have fetched everything on his own, even with the possible hiccup of the spell on his staff. It would have been easy, even.

"Foolish of me," he muttered, dragging an anxious hand through his hair and regarding his pale reflection in the glass. "Foolish to be swayed by a fascination."

But Stark _was_ fascinating. That was the safest way to put it; any weaker word would be an outright lie, and Loki didn't dare to use any stronger (more truthful) words. Loki's thoughts rested for a moment on a memory of man's face at the end of the most recent Juncture: full of open surprise and interest and that unreadable something-else.

Then the biting words inked in the Book surfaced in his mind.

He let out an irritated huff of breath and turned away from the windows, disgusted by the fear and the wistfulness he could discern in his own eyes. This was not the time to be sidetracked; once Amora exhausted all other options, she would hunt him down and tear him apart looking for answers. He needed to be ready when she did.

Loki made his way to the study, shoved open the door, and slammed it in his wake. The massive room was freshly furnished with various magical items but otherwise bare, containing only the most basic of furniture. It wasn't a room that he had spent much time on, no matter how amusing it was to make large pieces of furniture disappear from the mortals' shops. Perhaps he would put more energy into it later, when Skurge and Amora weren't on the trail of...

Banishing that thought, he stretched his hand out and reached with his mind and magic, satisfied when the thin black sticks disentangled themselves from their delicate case and drifted to land softly on his palm. Marking stones. Gripping them carefully, he set to work.

Runic magic was always his strongest suit- he never preferred physical and sensory magic, though the calculated gestures and the spoken language were far superior on the battlefield. Runes were art that could be appreciated for hours instead of merely glimpsed for a moment, and he appreciated that. There was something satisfying about displaying his work, even though most people only glanced at it for a moment before moving on. Everything about magic made him feel right, balanced, secure, but runes were the most stable and steadfast of the magical variants.

Still, in the back of his mind, he knew that adding runes for protection was a habitual reaction, something that would only keep him safely masked until Amora looked more closely throughout the city. He was already well protected here; he had seen to that. In the meantime, the new determent was a mere comforting delay before he faced the truth.

Loki lifted the marker to press it to the first window frame, only to stop short. He fixed his eyes on his hand that trembled like a leaf in the wind. The black of the marking stone was almost a blur.

He gritted his teeth and pressed the fine edge of the dense black to the metal sill, forcing himself to be calm as he began to draw. First the rune for _home_, like an apple tree bent into a bow. Then the rune for _safe_, like interconnected tendrils of ivy. Then the one for _invisibility_, a knitted circle of branches. Each rune was smaller than Loki's thumbnail.

Loki could feel the tension slowly easing from his shoulders as he worked steadily, leaving a trail of clean black lines along the walls and windows and doors.

His mind threatened to stray to hard-to-fathom things, like Amora's terrible knowledge or her presence on Midgard at all, but he pushed the thoughts away. She had not chosen to seek him yet- there was no reason to become frantic.

Well, actually, there was. But becoming frantic was not in Loki's nature.

Instead, his thoughts went to the Game. The upcoming Challenge was in its later stages, becoming more and more real with each passing minute. Stark stood a reasonable chance of winning, assuming that he didn't drink himself silly before the opening stages. Loki imagined Tony stumbling around and struggling to stay upright, much less win, and a small smirk crossed his face. Stark needed to be reminded that this was a competition, and that Loki would be striving to do his best work. Stark should be working with equal fervor. Now that he had the help of Thor, anyway...

No- Loki refused to think of his- of _Thor_ telling Stark just how to win, just how to beat him. Surely Thor would respect the nature of the Game? And yet, he had demanded that Loki end it.

He almost smudged the rune for _hidden_ (overlapping reeds woven tightly), and frowned at himself. The thought of Stark and Thor conspiring, plotting his end together was not a pleasant one, though it had been haunting him over the past day or so. He expelled it from his mind with a small shake of his head. Stark would be out of that house soon enough; Loki would see to that.

He paused halfway through creating the tear-shaped leaves to represent _concealment_ on the mantle as a different problem occurred to him. Stark had implied that he was unable to leave his home, but what if he vanished into that workshop of his without supervision? There was a possibility that Loki's interference would only further impede Stark's release.

That could be problematic. Loki slowly set the marker down on the mantle and took a step back, thinking. Perhaps it would be better to visit Stark, to give him some kind of warning. Aiding him now only to have his efforts foiled by the man's ignorance would be truly unfortunate.

* * *

_Three hours earlier_

Tony threw a lamp at his door, scowling when it didn't shatter the way he'd hoped it would (he needed to buy less durable furniture). He'd been kicking and swearing at anything that dared to get in range of his feet (the coffee table, the rug, the chair, etc) for the last fifteen minutes, getting drunker all the while. (Stupid _fucking_ house arrest...)

He threw himself into his desk chair, glaring at the home screen that flashed automatically. "JARVIS?"

_Yes, sir?_

"Pull up the news. Find a channel that's covering whatever's going on downtown." He folded his arms, looking determinedly away from the screen. He had no desire to witness his team's acts of bravery, but he didn't want to be forced to ask one of them what happened in the morning. His head was beginning to ache from the scotch and ale (wasn't there some rule about what you could drink after beer?) and he lifted the bottle to his lips to stifle it. The burn of the alcohol was soothing.

His gaze was caught by the white book sprawled haphazardly on his floor. His gut twisted a bit when he looked at it, and he turned to stare blankly at the screen instead. A long stretch of time had passed before he had determined that Loki was giving him the cold shoulder. He wasn't guilty. Nope. Not one bit. It was Loki's fault, anyway- you shouldn't blow up a Starbucks if you don't want to get yelled at a little.

Tony suddenly frowned, leaning closer to the screen. It was hard to tell with the slight double-vision, but he was pretty sure that Steve was using his shield as an umbrella for... was that glass or pixie dust?

"Audio, JARVIS."

The volume surged, and the harried-looking young woman in front of the camera regained her voice. Her serious tone matched the ambiance of the lightning and the fleeing people in the camera's frame behind her.

_"...unusual occurrence to say the least. The cause of the breaking windows is entirely unknown, though Avengers Black Widow and Hawkeye have entered the building to search for internal causes. Thor has been scouring the skies for the past ten minutes or so-" _Another spider-legged flash of lightning reinforced her words - "_and Captain America has been getting people to safety down here ever since his arrival on the scene."_

She gestured behind her, and the camera zoomed in over her shoulder on the Captain's authoritative form. Tony snorted, lifting the bottle to his lips again. Nice tights, Cap.

_"So far, Iron Man is nowhere to be seen."_

His mood soured even further. Thanks, newslady. Just rub it in, why don't you.

_"The glass has been falling in bursts for the past twenty minutes, and we are still in the dark about the causes-_" Her words dropped off into a gasp as Steve charged up to her, shield raised against the knifing shards.

"Get out of here," He shouted, his eyes wide; the cameraman ignored him and aimed his lens into the air. The sound of shattering set Tony's teeth on edge as he stared the screen. Either he had finally reached the point of hallucinating, or a hail of glass was descending on the street. The cameraman swore loudly over the wind before running, sending the frame in all directions.

"Jesus," he muttered, leaning forwards and sloshing scotch onto the desk. "Channel twelve, JARVIS. This one's useless."

The portly man looked as though he was cursing his decision to come to work today as he grimaced into the camera. Behind him, Tony could see haphazardly made _Police! _streamers blocking off the street.

"_...not raining cats, dogs, or men today. On the corner of seventh and thirty-fourth, it's been raining glass for the past-" _

"Mute," Tony muttered. He turned away from his desk and staggered to his bed. It was just glass- he didn't know why everyone was making such a big deal out of it.

(Focusing on not spilling scotch on the sheets, he didn't notice when the camera zoomed in on a thunder god hitting the ground, followed closely by two and a half tons of ex-windows.)

The collar of his shirt choked him, and he pulled at it in irritation before dragging it over his head and throwing it to the floor. He lifted the bottle of scotch to his mouth, only to swear and toss the bottle away when it came up empty. For a moment, he considered getting another but decided against it; his eyes were already slipping shut.

* * *

The dream was almost a given by this time.

Loki had him pinned, his hands strong against Tony's chest. His face held the echoes of a smile. Green eyes blazed. Tony wasn't afraid- there was no room for fear as Loki leaned in, his cheek brushing Tony's goatee as he whispered in the harsh, rolling language. The smell of burnt mint was thick in the air. His hands tore through Loki's armor like it was paper as fingers gripped his shoulders-

"Stark..."

-nails pierced the fabric of his shirt-

"Stark."

-Loki's lips were trailing along Tony's jaw-

_"Stark._"

He jolted upright, grasping the sheets and gulping air. JARVIS had shut off the television, and the only light came from the glowing hands of the clock. It was a little after three. "Jeez," he panted, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. Loki's face hovered behind his eyelids. "_Shit. _This is bad."

"Is it?"

Tony shouted, scrambling back against the headboard and dragging the sheets with him. Loki stood at the foot of his bed, one hand resting easily on the frame.

Loki.

In the dark, with the remnants of the dream clinging to his skin like a veil of mist, there was a very real urge to reach out for the regal figure, imminent death be damned.

Loki crossed his arms, one eyebrow raised, and the simple motion was enough to snap Tony out of the trance (mostly, anyway). The metal plates of his armor gleamed softly and reminded Tony just how vulnerable he was, alone up here. Thor was almost certainly home by now, but if he shouted, would the thunder god even hear him?

Then his head gave an almighty pound that resonated throughout his body, and he doubled over with a groan. The ale was coming back to haunt him with a vengeance.

"Are you ill?"

Tony glared through his fingers. He wasn't sure whether or not Loki had sounded hopeful or wary. He shut his eyes, trying not to throw up. "No, I'm hungover. Please go away."

"Ah, yes. I smell it now."

Tony jerked, his eyes fluttering open as cool fingers appeared on his forehead, but he couldn't bring himself to pull away. It felt too good against his aching head. Instead he stared up at Loki, trying not to stare at the sharp line of his jaw or the curve of his lips-

_-lips trailing along his jaw-_

He chanced a glance at Loki's eyes; they were almost indiscernible in the dark. "Are you going to heal me?"

"No. You brought it upon yourself." His hand vanished, and Tony immediately felt like he'd swallowed a brick (or six). "Even if I wished to, there is little that I can do about poisonings without drastic measures," Loki stepped away, metal shifting against leather as he twisted to glance around the darkened room. "Have you no lamps or candles?"

"JARVIS, lights. _Gently._"

The wall sconces lit up with soft flares, but Loki still wrinkled his nose slightly and turned his face away. Tony didn't know why- he wasn't the one with a hangover. But as the god examined the lights with distaste, Tony's hands fell away from his head, and he eyed Loki's face. It was bizarre that he was here, standing in Tony's bedroom at three-fifteen in the morning in familiar shades of black and white and green. Tony's eyes slipped lower without his permission; though the light was low, he could easily see the way the leather sections of the armor fit perfectly, like a second skin. He only wished that the thicker, more obscuring metal sections were gone_-_

_-hands tore through Loki's armor like it was paper-_

Tony shook his head, leaning across the bed to reach the Advil in the bedside table. If he started thinking like that, with Loki _right here, _then it would only end badly. "Mind telling me why you're here?" he asked as he popped open the bottle and took two without water.

Loki's attention turned back to him, but he paused, blinking. He shook his head a little, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth before he turned, hands clasped behind his back. "It is essential that we discuss your arrest, as it interferes with the Game."

"My house arrest?" Loki nodded, and Tony watched him as he began to pace slowly. The god's eyes seemed to scrutinize everything in his path. "Well, Fury won't let me go until he's satisfied that I'm not helping you out. Just be patient."

Loki sent him a wry glance. "Is that what your dear director said to you? 'Just be patient'?" He knelt, stalling Tony's reply as he picked up the cursed white book and smoothed dust from its cover. He waited for consternation, but Loki only set it gently on his desk before continuing. "I can be patient when I wish it, Stark, or when there is no other solution. Neither one applies."

"So, what, you're going to clear my name?" Tony barked out a laugh, wondering if he was still dreaming.

"Not for _you,_" Loki looked at him with sudden, surprising coldness. "For the Game."

Confused, Tony sat back against the headboard, watching as Loki went back to his pacing. Though his arms weren't stiff, his hands were clenched into fists that made his knuckles turn white. Tony frowned. "Look, did I do something to piss you off?"

Loki's face held just the right amount of uncomprehending irritation as he faced Tony. It was too perfect, like a porcelain mask made especially for the occasion. "What gave you such an idea? As I said, I only came here for the sake of the Game. I simply thought that I would inquire about the duration of your containment and alert you to my efforts."

Tony eyed him carefully. "Why do you do that?"

"It is natural for me to defend against people and events that would hamper the progress of the Game-"

"Not that, the..." Tony gestured to his face unhelpfully. He'd never been good at charades. "The cool, calm, not-angry face. Why do you do it? If you're mad, be mad." His words reminded him of what he'd used to say to Bruce. The prospective damage to people and property were similar enough, he supposed.

Loki's eyes had narrowed, but his leisurely pacing continued as though they discussed breakfast or hair gel. "I brought myself here to discuss your imprisonment, Stark, not fabricated moods."

Tony crossed his arms across his chest, stung. "Are you open to discussing _actual _moods?"

"I am truly unaware of-"

"Liar."

It was as though someone had jammed a cattle prod into the top of Loki's spine, the way he went rigid. Tony tensed, waiting to be blown to bits or throttled. But Loki only let out a small, high laugh and continued his circuit around the room, nudging an empty bottle out of his path with his foot. "Too true, Stark. Too true." The bitter tinge to the simple words was undeniable. "Yours is a difficult question, and not one that I have had to answer in the past. In Asgard, there were few who would question a lie about my... _temperament_ of all things. If I was angered or slighted, I did not display it or challenge it. But, of course, that is not the Asgardian way. Given the choice, men like _Thor-_" (the bitterness resurfaced for a moment) "-would solve every matter, every offense with brute strength. And on Asgard, nearly all men are like Thor.

"I, however, find that such skirmishes only serve to end the argument temporarily and forge grudges that can span lifetimes. I prefer to distance myself. Anger is more useful if it is controlled."

His voice was as melodic and calm as always, but his hands were still in fists beneath the hem of his sleeves. Tony scoured the god's face for any sign of distress or anger, but there was none. "That's one way to do it, and I'm sure it works perfectly fine most of the time, but if you're mad at _me_, I'd really like to know why."

Loki raised an eyebrow, his gaze cool. "Why do you assume that I am angered by you? Or at all, for that matter?"

"Everybody else is; why not you?" Tony sat forward, trying to look apologetic. He wasn't quite sure _why _he cared about Loki's moods, but he did. "Just tell me why. It's okay to be angry. It's even okay to be violent. Well, sometimes, anyway..." He added hurriedly as he realized that Fury would kill him if he found out that Tony had just said that to _Loki_ of all people.

"I have many reasons to be angry, Stark," Loki muttered. "No matter what delusions you hold, neither you nor your actions are among them."

In his pacing, he passed a bit too close to Tony's side of the bed, and Tony reached out and caught his wrist just above the gauntlet. "Hey-"

He found himself shoved up against the headboard, a hand digging into his windpipe. Panicked, Tony lashed out with one hand, aiming for Loki's head. The god caught it with the hand that wasn't wrapped around Tony's throat and pinned it to the bed frame with snakelike speed. Green eyes gleamed with restraint and fury and a hint of _areyouhappynow? _Yet, after a moment, his fingers unclenched until they were a mere presence against his skin, as though they were taking his pulse.

Loki's face was like stone as he met Tony's wild gaze. His lips were set in a tense line, but he seemed dangerously calm. He spoke slowly and carefully, making sure that Tony understood every word. "This is no Juncture, Stark. I have the power to hurt you if I desire it. Provoking me is not wise."

The urge to yell for Thor as loudly as he possibly could was overwhelming, but he contained it. He had a strong feeling that Loki would rip his throat out with his bare hand if he tried. "Sorry..."

"I doubt that you are," Loki's tone was still soft, but the look in his eye was sharper than glass. "You only wish to walk away from this encounter unscathed. You wanted anger? Violence? You are a hairsbreadth away from encountering what you all but demanded, and yet you try to placate me." Fingers flexed on his throat. "Unwise, indeed..."

Tony's heart ushered blood through his veins in a haphazard rhythm as Loki stared at him. As his head spun and throbbed, he suddenly registered the distance between them. Loki's breath was cool and sweet against his face. His eyes darted over the pale skin, too close to focus on any one feature- brow, cheekbone, chin, lips. There was fear, unlike the dream, but the fear was mixed in with a hundred other things, all clamoring for dominance-

Loki's hand put a bit of pressure on his throat, and Tony jerked back against the headboard as he realized that he had been_ leaning in. _Loki stepped back, letting Tony's trapped hand fall as he put a space between them, his eyes carefully blank.

Feeling a bit suicidal, Tony coughed. "So. What were you saying about not being mad at me?"

Loki let out a disbelieving huff of breath, his gaze sliding elsewhere to rest on Tony's bedside table. "And to think, people label _me _insane..."

Tony watched him, still standing so close. With the lingering adrenaline keeping his heart rate sky-high, it was easy to imagine leaning forward, reaching out-

He shook himself (every stupid idea sounded better after two AM) as Loki stepped forward, plucking something from the table before Tony could see it. "Have you unraveled any if its mysteries yet?" He asked, showing Tony the green cube pinched between two of his fingers. His expression and tone were perfectly civil, at odds with Tony's thundering heart and shaky breathing.

Tony blinked. "Uh. No. Are you going to tell me why you're angry, or should I just stop wasting our time?"

Loki appeared not to have heard him, keeping his eyes on the cube instead. "It has many. Mysteries, that is. I created it myself."

"Was it something I did in the Game?" Tony persisted as Loki turned it over in his hand. "Some rule that I broke?"

"You should put a bit more effort into exploring it."

"Exploring what? The rules? The Game?"

"No, this." He lifted the cube with a patronizing expression. "Really, Stark, pay attention-"

"No, _screw _that. Just forget the cube and _talk _to me already, will you?" Tony swung his legs over the edge of the bed, forcing Loki to step back to avoid them. He received a scathing look.

"Talk? You wish to _talk _with the God of Lies?" The words were laced with a bitterness that caught Tony off-guard. He stood slowly, and Loki turned his back on him with a haughty breath.

Tony took a step forward, but Loki took two. "You're pissed. I see that. I just don't get _why-_"

"Don't you?" Loki was in his face before he could blink, towering over him. His glare was tremendous, but Tony stood his ground, fists clenched at his sides. The three inches between them felt like a centimeter. "Understand this, Stark- I lie and trick because I _enjoy_ it_._" The cadence of his voice was an inch from that of the magic that haunted Tony's dreams. "What I do _not _enjoy is being falsely accused of another's misdeeds."

"Falsely-? This isn't about the Starbucks thing, isn't it?" Tony let out a startled laugh which was quickly halted by the dangerous flash of _something _in Loki's eyes. He tried a different approach. "Witnesses saw someone with _glowing green-_"

"And did you witness it?" Loki seethed above him. "Did you look upon me as I decimated a _coffee shop?_ What meaning would it have? What significance?"

"Maybe they got your order wrong," Tony snapped, unnerved by the competing instincts to lean forward and back away. The words rang in his ears, though, and a small doubt began to needle at his conscience.

Loki shook his head once and turned his back, taking a few measured steps away. "And to think, you are incapable of understanding why you anger me, Stark."

Tony's jaws snapped shut as he controlled the knee-jerk retort that sprung to his tongue. "Well, if it wasn't you, then where are you pointing fingers?"

Loki's hands were in fists again, and he lifted his chin slightly. "You wouldn't know the names even if I was willing to offer them. I feel no need to be called a liar a third time tonight."

Tony opened his mouth to argue, but Loki cut him off.

"Be sure that you are in the company of at least one of your fellows this coming Tuesday at noon. That is all."

"_Wait-"_

But he was gone, leaving Tony to stare at the empty space. The green cube rested innocently on the ground.

* * *

**I know, I know- lots of questions without answers. The answers are coming, though. Promise! *winks* Feel free to ask if something doesn't make sense, though.**

**Many thanks to each and every reader and reviewer. You guys are so awesome and supportive, and I owe you all so much! Thank you!**

**I'll do my very best to update soon. No fingers crossed, see? *holds out hands for inspection***

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep.**


	24. Chapter 24

**Hello!**

**First off, I am so, so sorry. My old computer died a few weeks ago. For real this time- there was a funeral and everything. Unfortunately, it also took a massive repair investment with it, and so it took me a while to get the money for a new one. Thankfully, my birthday passed, so I got some help.**

**Anyway, I'm back now, and I thank all of you for being so patient. You guys rock!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Warnings: None.**

* * *

Polished to an unhealthy gloss, the plaques and podiums managed to gleam even in the thin moonlight that seeped from behind the heavy curtains. The objects they bore and described were duller, blending more seamlessly with the shadows until Amora sent up a flare of green fire that illuminated every corner.

She stepped closer to examine a series of age-blackened fragments of armor, a displeased frown pulling at her mouth and scrunching her brow. "These are not nearly old enough..." she huffed before moving to examine a more promising subject- a crude jug with a squiggly carving embedded in the side. Her hand was a centimeter from it and already glowing when a thick rumbling sound made her stop short.

Turning, she scowled. Skurge's chin had dropped to his chest, and his fingers were loosening on the bloody ax.

"_Skurge,_" She hissed.

The ax clattered to the floor as he started awake, sluggishly looking to and fro. Amora simply glared, allowing him to puzzle it out on his own. At last, he retrieved the ax and ducked his head, abashed. "Apologies."

Ignoring him to the best of her ability, Amora placed her hands on the urn and closed her eyes, seeking the subtle thrum of energy beneath the cool surface. A moment later, she withdrew, looking pinched, and scoured the remainder of the objects for the oldest among them. She gritted her teeth upon realizing that the jug was the only true contender among the artifacts.

"...Amora?"

She turned, a castigation ready on her lips, but her companion's soft tone gave her pause. "Yes?"

"Might we rest here?" He sounded rather like a baritone child as Amora stepped closer. Laying a hand on his chin, she coaxed his gaze up to hers. His eyes were dull.

"Darling, we cannot cease our search until we find what we seek. You know this."

Despite her attempt at a soothing tone, Skurge's brow wrinkled. "And if we fail to find it?"

Amora recoiled, anger leaping to burn her throat. "We will not," she snarled, feeling no remorse when Skurge flinched away from her.

But even as she turned back to reexamine the objects, she could feel the fatigue burrowing through her skin and tainting her blood. Her fingertips felt numb from the magic she had exerted in locating the earthy energies of the relics and teleporting to them the first three times, and she dreaded the inevitable travel to the next location.

But she buried her exhaustion beneath a mountain of determination. She deserved this, and no one would stand in her way. A smile slid smoothly across her face. "We will not fail."

* * *

Tony turned the green cube over and over in his palm, watching the light from the lamp slide over the points and edges. He felt restless and drained at the same time, as though he'd run a marathon and then downed a gallon of coffee. Loki's angry face and words had taken over his mind, chasing his thoughts in circles like deranged cartoon characters, one after another.

Why would Loki lie about the whole Starbucks thing? What would he gain? Part of his brain was adamant that Loki was just tricking him, playing him for a fool, but another part was cautiously wondering who or what else could be behind it (he justified this by telling himself that having a new villain on top of everything else he was dealing with was simply _not _an option). It was too random for anyone else, but at the same time, Loki had never been bashful about his crimes before.

(He ignored the tiny voice in the back of his mind that asked him if, perhaps, he simply _wanted_ it to be Loki so that he wouldn't have to admit that the god might just have _feelings_ that had been hurt.)

Tony shook his head and rubbed his eyes, glancing at the clock. Almost four. At this rate, he wouldn't get any answers before the others were up and working (At least, Steve would be up. He lived and breathed the early-to-bed, early-to-rise principle).

Tony rubbed the surface of the cube with his thumb as he replayed the encounter in his head for the fiftieth time that night. Loki's tension, the flare of his temper, the feel of his hands on Tony's throat and wrist... it was a mixed bag of emotions. He wondered briefly if figuring out the cube would make Loki any less mad.

He didn't know why it mattered to him. After all, Steve, Natasha, and Fury were almost always angry with him to some degree, and he never batted an eye at them. But, for some inexplicable reason, Loki giving him the cold shoulder for a few minutes was enough to make him pry and whine and try to figure out what had caused it. It was weird. And pathetic. And coupled with the fact that he had almost _kissed_ Loki earlier...

He stood abruptly, launching into what was likely to be a very intense session of pacing.

It was impossible, wasn't it? Sure, Loki was sort of (unfairly) attractive and a little (obscenely) powerful and kinda (wildly) fascinating, but that didn't mean that Tony was just going fall at his feet.

Not to _mention_ that he was the enemy. The bad guy. The one who kicked puppies blew up Starbucks and, you know, formed an army to storm Manhattan. He was deranged, demonic, devious. Right?

That smile from the previous afternoon (could it only be the previous afternoon?) resurfaced in his mind, and Tony swallowed. It wasn't a deranged smile or a demonic smile. Not even a devious smile. And before, when Loki had talked about being unappreciated as a magic user... there had been a moment, hadn't there?

He sighed, turning to face the bed. His eyelids weighed a ton apiece, but he had a feeling that the instant he tried to sleep, the dreams would catch up to him again. Still, his eyes prickled, and his feet dragged on the carpet. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he rubbed his fingers over the edges of the cube. Maybe he would dream about what he was supposed to do with it. (Yeah. Right. Because he's just had the _best_ luck lately...)

"JARVIS?" He yawned heavily, already leaning back against the headboard. "You up?"

_Always, Sir._

"I need you to do some scans on this." Tony lifted his palm towards the ceiling. "Look for anything unusual."

_Certainly._

The lights dimmed as the scanners activated, sweeping over his palm three times before receding. _Preliminary scans have not detected any sort of abnormalities._

"Of course not," Tony muttered as his eyes closed (against his will. Sort of). "Lights, JARVIS."

The gentle luminescence that he could see through his lids vanished, and he tried to quiet the thoughts in his head.

Barely a minute had passed before JARVIS spoke up again:

_Sir? Director Fury is attempting to call your cell phone._

Tony cracked one eye blearily. "Just give him my voicemail, JARVIS. No more calls before ten. No, nine... No, make it ten."

_Very well, Sir._

* * *

Clint inched into the wide-open office space, one arrow readied in his hands. Papers littered the floor, contrasting sharply against the navy-back carpet. Behind him, Natasha eased her way out of the hall. Her gun was steady in her grip. The lower floors were already being canvassed by the men in blue. A few S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were point alongside the two of them and were searching the north side of the floor. After all, the cause and purpose of the glass-storm was still unknown (inter-department relations couldn't handle another unforeseen mass-death. Or a foreseen one, for that matter).

"So it's Loki?" Clint breathed, eyeing the cubicles- they could be serving as cover for something less-than-friendly.

"Could be him," They split as Natasha spoke, moving quickly and silently to ensure that the space was empty and devoid of anything dangerous or otherwise unusual. "Could be the latest Doombot. Whatever it is, though, it's strong. Not many things can knock Thor out cold."

Two hours ago, Steve had radioed up, panicked, to tell them that Thor had hit the ground across the street from their building. The words were still ringing in their ears when the (presumed) final strike had downed enough glass to cover the Eiffel Tower. Twice. On this floor, every single panel of glass had been ripped away, only leaving a few tooth-like shards behind. The knifing wind made Clint itch to load the grapple-hook arrow that he kept on hand for falling out of windows.

"I don't see any sign of explosives by the east wall," Natasha used her radio to whisper, though they were a scant twenty feet apart. It was almost funny that she insisted on maintaining protocol communications even when the odds of being overheard were next to nothing.

"Same here," Clint knelt for a moment, peering beneath the desks and chairs. Nothing surfaced or jumped out at him. "But I asked what you _thought_, not a list of possibilities. The little bastard might do this just to confuse us. I mean, he's just knocking out windows. It could be a distraction, or a terror strike, or-"

"_Or_ we could stop guessing pointlessly and try to figure out how it happened." He didn't see the look that Natasha sent him, but he'd been on the receiving end enough to imagine it.

"Well, looking for explosives is a waste of time. They have dogs for this shit, and besides, it didn't look like any explosion I've ever-" Clint froze, sighting the out-of-place something on the floor. "Tasha. Here."

In the darkness, it looked like a cartoonish bomb, the round kind with a single fuse popping out randomly. There was no fuse that he could see, though. Holstering her gun, Natasha approached carefully. Her eyes darted over and around it, taking in every detail. "Clint..."

"What?" He was busy calculating the angle necessary to send the object through the open window with minimal force when Natasha bent and picked it up. (Any yelps of horror on Clint's part were imagined.)

"It's a billiard ball."

Clint stared at her for a moment before stepping forward to peer at it as she angled her flashlight. The solid green six stared back at him. "Well. Must've been some game, huh?"

Natasha didn't respond. Frowning, she turned the ball this way and that.

"Probably fell off of someone's desk. A weird paperweight, maybe?"

"I wouldn't be so sure," She murmured, holding it towards him again. The light illuminated three letters on the back.

Squinting, Clint read aloud, "A-E-S. A manufacturer?"

"A person. Anthony Edward Stark."

Clint felt a chill, and not just from the wind. "That can't be right. Right?"

Natasha sent him the _You're Not Being Professional_ Look. "Use your eyes. You've seen this _S_ here and there at the Mansion. This is Tony's."

His fingers tightened on his bow as he turned the situation over in his mind, words like _impossible_ and _house arrest_ and_ what the fuck?_ running through his head. "But Tony's at home. We saw him before we even left."

"Yes, Clint. I remember." Natasha rubbed the ball's surface with one finger, looking thoughtful, before she passed it on to him. "We should contact Director Fury."

"What, over _this? _A pool ball?" The conversation was becoming more ridiculous (and, Clint realized with a jolt, more like something Loki would induce) as it went on.

Natasha's gaze was sharp. "You were there during the discussion. He wants to be notified if Stark so much as sneezes in the general direction of something odd."

"Yeah, but..." He floundered for an argument. "A _pool ball._" He could see before she'd even opened her mouth that he'd lost, and he sighed. "Fine. I'll radio headquarters to contact him."

"Showing would be better," Natasha corrected, pulling a square something out of her pocket and tapping it until it lit up and cast an unnatural glow across her face. Pressing a few more buttons, she gestured for Clint to hand her the ball a moment before Fury appeared onscreen. Despite the ludicrous hour, he looked exactly the same as always, complete with his trademark scowl.

"Agent Romanov. Agent Barton."

"Director." Natasha responded evenly. "There has been a development in the downtown disturbance. We found this-" she held up the ball, turning it so that Fury could see the number, then the initials, "-on the twenty-second floor of the targeted building."

"Stark's initials?"

She nodded in confirmation.

"But you've had eyes on him during the attack?"

Natasha and Clint exchanged a glance before she said, "No, Sir."

"... I see. And who has eyes on him now?"

"If you don't mind my asking, Sir, why does it matter?" Clint cut in. He hoped that the implied _Are we really going to get upset because we think that Tony hopped over to play a game of pool?_ wasn't too obvious.

"Barton." Fury's tone was downright frigid. "When was the last time that you saw Stark's pool tables?"

Clint blinked. Why was that relevant? He almost asked, but the memory surfaced in his mind, and his mouth went dry. The tables had been piled high with Loki's shit.

"I'll take it you remember," Fury continued. "And as you both know, we are treating any correlation between Stark and Loki with the utmost importance, which is why I'm _asking_: if you're all out there, then who's watching him?" It was surprising that Fury's glare didn't crack the screen.

Natasha stepped forward before Clint could respond. "No one, Sir. All Avengers moved to the threat downtown."

"I see."

"But do we honestly think that Tony had any part in this? This attack was random, and it didn't serve to accomplish anything-"

"But we have yet to confirm if this_ is_ Stark, Agent Barton. I'm sure you remember that Loki is in possession of his staff? Yes?" Clint flinched at the reminder. "Well, then you'll see why it's not such a big leap to assume that one of our own has been compromised. Did you see Loki? Did he hurry down to fight you all? No? Then is it conceivable that maybe, just maybe, he was trying to get you all out of the house to free up a pawn of his?"

A heavy weight settled in Clint's stomach. Another argument was on his tongue, but Natasha was giving him a hard look (He really wanted her to stop that) and Fury's expression left no room for debate. He kept his face neutral. "What are your orders, Director Fury?"

"Agent Romanov, join Captain America on the ground and arrange a transport for Thor. Keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. Agent Barton, head back to base immediately to try to find Stark there and secure the situation. I'll be there to sort it out in a few hours."

"You can't just call the guy?" Clint protested, but Natasha shoved the screen into his hand and was gone, a hand to her ear as she radioed the Captain.

"You think I haven't been trying? Stark's either the soundest sleeper I've ever met or he doesn't want whatever he's doing to be interrupted." The scowl faded from Fury's face, replaced by a rarer, stern look. "Barton, I need to know that I can trust you while we're wading though this shit. You follow? I need you to be my agent in this, not Stark's drinking buddy." Clint opened his mouth to protest, but Fury steamrolled over him. "I'm not saying that Stark is brainwashed, or even that he's involved in Loki's plans in the first place. But there's a whole lot of evidence pointing to some connection between the two of them, and we need to figure out what that connection is before we leave Stark to his own devices."

"I understand, Sir, but... it seems like we're making a big deal out of a bunch of insignificant things. Can't we set up a lie detector test or something?"

"We'll move forward in our investigation later this morning. As for right now, I need you to get your ass to the mansion."

Clint nodded once and terminated the connection.

* * *

Tony wasn't even fully asleep when the pounding on his door startled him into alertness. As he blinked into the darkened room, his first thought was that Loki had decided to end the game with a nice, healthy bombing or invasion or something similar. The second was that the steady pounding was reigniting his headache from earlier.

_Sir?_

Tony lifted his head and scowled heartily into the darkness. "I thought we'd agreed to keep the trolls in the dungeon, JARVIS."

_I am woefully unaware of any troll, Sir, but Agent Barton is requesting entrance._

"Of course he is," Tony muttered, moving to cradle his head in his hands. A preexisting-something in his grip gave him pause, and he unclenched his fingers to find Loki's cube still resting in his palm. Its weight was as disconcertingly disproportionate as usual, but the sight of it made his gut clench unpleasantly as he thought back to the encounter with Loki for the thousandth time that night.

The pounding resumed. _Sir...?_

"Let him in before he breaks down the door," Tony sat up gingerly as he stuffed the cube under his pillow (yeah, not the most inspired hiding place, but it was the best he could do on short notice. And at four in the morning to boot).

Clint burst in, shattering any and all thought process that Tony had been attempting and blinding him with the hall light. He quickly straightened, surveying the room with clinical detachment before sending Tony a slightly sheepish glance. "Did I wake you?"

"Sleep is for the weak and the bored. So, yes." Tony sat up, rubbing his sore eyes. He would bet half his fortune that they were bloodshot beyond belief. "Did you have a reason for busting in, or were you just lonely?"

"There's a reason." Clint flipped the light on, causing Tony to dive under the covers with a groan, and closed the door firmly. He spoke again, his voice vaguely muffled from beyond the sheets. "You've been here the whole night? You haven't left?"

Tony slowly emerged, squinting and cursing under his breath. "Lights down, JARVIS." To Clint, he added, "You do realize what 'house arrest' means, right?"

"Answer the question, Tony."

Tony's attempt at a smile dropped from his face. "Yeah. Never left. What's going on?" His brain started working more efficiently, and he threw the covers back and stood. "You think I had something to do with whatever happened?"

His eyes were two-thirds Clint, one-third Agent. "_I_ don't! Really. It's just that..." He pushed a hand through his hair and grimaced. "Fury wants eyes on you until we can figure out what caused the situation on Seventh."

"What situation? The glass thing?" Tony felt the familiar creep of anger at the accusations and lowered his tone to mask it. "You're giving me nothing here, Clint. I don't know any Jedi mind tricks, okay? You're going to have to spell it out for me."

"Well... you know how it is right now. Fury's being paranoid. Everyone's worried about Loki. You've got to be careful so that you don't accidentally give him more ammo."

Tony blinked at him. "You realize that did absolutely nothing to help me understand, right?"

Clint exhaled loudly. "It's hard for me, okay? I want to trust you, I do, but Fury keeps bringing up the... the spear, and I can just _tell_ that I'm still on thin ice with him, and apparently it's a big fucking deal when we find a pool ball at a scene, and-"

Tony held up his hands against the onslaught of words, trying to filter. "Whoa, pause for a sec. Did you just say pool ball? As in, the game, pool? And what does that have to do with me?"

"They think it's from the set you keep in one of Thor's spare rooms."

Tony froze. The memory of the bare storage room leapt to the front of his mind, and he swallowed. Loki wasn't outrageous enough to knock out a few windows with pool balls, was he?

Clint nodded through Tony's shocked silence. "I know, it's stupid. It's really, really stupid. And I really don't think that you're possessed or doing anything wrong, you know that," (Tony felt a guilty pang) "but it's not like I can go against orders. Fury sees this as fuel for the fire, and he wants to be absolutely sure that you're not involved before he lets you off the hook." He hesitated. "And you were acting kinda weird last week. He might be seriously overreacting, but still. It's not _totally_ without reason."

"Beg to differ," Tony grumbled, reaching for a crumpled shirt on the floor. The glow of the reactor through the undershirt was making him even more self-conscious than the conversation itself. "So let me get this straight- Fury's throwing a fit because of a _pool ball_."

"Yeah." Clint shrugged sheepishly. "He'll be here in a couple of hours. We should head downstairs, make some coffee, complain about bosses. Mostly the second one, though, 'cause I actually got _negative_ sleep last night."

"Give me a second to get the dead animal taste out of my mouth," Tony muttered, shoving his arms in the sleeves and brushing at the shirt's horribly wrinkled front as he headed for the bathroom. He grimaced upon seeing his reflection - red eyes, pale skin, horrible hair - and averted his eyes while grabbing the toothpaste. He made a point of _not_ thinking about how screwed he was, or wondering if Thor had managed to tell the others about Loki's theft, because _he_ sure as hell hadn't had time. (That wasn't a conversation that he was looking forward to.)

When he emerged, Clint had wandered over to the desk and was examining a little clump of wires that Tony had been taking apart pre-Loki. "You break it, you buy it," he warned as he grabbed his phone from the top of the dresser. He had nineteen messages form Fury.

"Gotcha. What's this?"

Tony glanced up and nearly crushed the phone in his grip. Clint was holding up the book. _The_ Book.

"Oh," Tony croaked, then coughed. "That. That's an old book of my dad's. I've been looking for alternative activities since, you know, Fury banned me from the lab."

"Any good?" His fingers were teasing the edges of the cover, just barely opening it-

"Not at all!" Tony burst out and stepped forward, extending a hand for the Book. It was all he could do not to snatch it out of Clint's hand. "The worst. I wish I'd started yodeling to pass the time. Much more entertaining."

"I'd rather you stuck with reading," Snorting, Clint handed it over easily. "So. Coffee? Unless you want me to pass out."

"Sure, 'course." Tony set the book on the dresser, his heart rate slowing to something resembling healthy. "Espresso shots?"

Clint wrinkled his nose, already heading for the door. "Yeah, right. You remember what happened last time I tried those? Never again, man. Never again."

Tony cast a last look at the book, safe and sound and un-read, and breathed a sigh.

_Never again, indeed._

* * *

Loki watched the rising sun dully, taking no joy from the rare stripes of pink and peach that poured across the horizon. It was never such a clean transformation in Asgard- the twin suns were rarely in such synchrony that it would go directly from night to day or day to night - rather, they would experience a period of half-light that some believed to be perfect for sorcery (Loki disagreed- he preferred full daylight for rune work, or full darkness for concentration). Midgard was even farther from Jotunheim, which had a lone sun that peeped over the horizon for a single day every Asgardian month. In prior days, after sleepless nights, Loki would take a moment to marvel at the transition from night to day.

This time, there was no satisfaction in observing the dawn. Bitterness clouded his eyes like cataracts as he mentally plotted and prepared and certainly did_ not_ dwell on the events of the night.

No. His thoughts canvassed the possibilities and probabilities of an attack by Amora. They mapped out sanctuaries that might be utilized in the event of his residence being discovered. They revised and re-revised the next chapter of the Game.

They did not dwell.

Loki stared into the sun, his relative stillness at odds with his bustling mind. He hated that he had never been able to lie convincingly to himself. It would make some things easier if he were able to ignore them entirely.

But even if he couldn't block out the niggling concerns, he was _not_ dwelling. Much.

Still, his thoughts gradually slid from Stark to the larger problem. He could feel the outpouring of Amora's energy from where he sat as she tore the city apart in her search.

He had no doubt that she would fail. Though she was unaware of it, she was merely tracing his steps. There was nothing to be found.

After another few moments of watching the sun, he stretched his arm behind him and focused on the elven staff that rested on one of Stark's odd tables. It dove into his grip and he lifted it, running his fingers over the runes that adorned the otherwise smooth surface. He reached out with his magic, touching its essence for the hundredth time since Stark had returned it to him. The familiar frustration welled up under his ribs, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

_You failed me,_ he wanted to say._ What am I to do now?_

But he was not in the habit of beseeching inanimate objects, and he had no intention of starting now. He set the staff aside and moved his hand to the spot on his right side, just below his ribcage. It was his imagination, he would swear. An infection of the mind. Magic was not something physical- it did not run through the body like blood. It was a core of strength. That was what he had been taught.

But was the magic of a frost giant different? Could it be ripped away like a limb?

A bleating sound snapped him from his dark reviere, and he cast his gaze around the room in search of the noises before locating it. In the kitchen, the phone that "Livy" had bought a few weeks ago was buzzing and chirping in some sort of strange fit.

He stood, unnaturally grateful for the distraction, and hurried over to pick it up and gingerly open it as he'd seen Midgardians do on the streets. "He-hello?" He remembered to alter his voice only midway through the greeting, and cursed silently. The words and tone that came from the device startled him.

"Yes, hi, Livy?"

Loki frowned at the familiar voice, struggling to place it. "Ms... Potts?"

"Yes, good morning." The woman sounded out of breath and vaguely frantic. "I'm sorry to be calling this early, and you might think I'm insane, but bear with me here. I need a favor."

Loki blinked once before a smile eased across his face. "I'm happy to help, of course."

* * *

**I hope you guys enjoyed this! Things are pretty crazy right now, but I _swear _that I will have speedier updates. The main problem is behind me- now I've just got to keep finding time to write.**

**Thank you all so much for your continuing support and readership! I couldn't do this without you all.**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep**


	25. Chapter 25

**Hello, all! Happy twenty-fifth chapter! And this is the longest one yet - over _six thousand words! _*Dances like a fool***

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Warning: Nothing unusual.**

**I won't hold you up: onward!**

* * *

Pepper really, really wanted to throw something. It was rare that she ever had the desire to do so, and even rarer that she indulged herself, but she was seriously considering it now, tangled up in her sheets with a voice in her ear delivering God-awful news.

Gripping the phone with all the force of an alligator's jaws, she managed to maintain her (mostly) calm, (sort-of) collected tone. "What do you mean, we can't postpone it?"

"Pep, you know it better than I do. Even with Tony gone, we can't just put this thing on ice." Andrew from PR was speaking with annoying rationality, and it wasn't doing wonders for Pepper's mood. "I would've let you know sooner, but I just now got the memo about Stark. I'll try to get the tech guys on this, see if they can present their own stuff for once, but we've got to be prepared..."

Pepper's heart skipped a few beats, and not in the good way. "Are you saying that you expect me to cover the entire presentation? Dammit, Andrew, we're supposed to have backups for these kinds of situations-"

"We are, yeah, but none of us thought that Stark would be out with the plague." There was a heavy sigh on the other end. "Look, Pep, I'm sorry about his. Really, I am. I'll try my hardest to get the scientists open to the idea of miking up, and in the meantime, you just worry about what's on your plate. I'll call when I know more."

"Thank you," Pepper said pseudo-calmly before closing the phone. She leaned her head against her hand and took a deep breath, trying to stop the cold sweat that was breaking out on her back.

The Twelfth Annual Stark Industry Press Luncheon was less than a week away. The biggest PR event of the year, and Fury was showing no signs of letting Tony out for a bit of fresh air- or a few hours to present the newest innovations and goals of Stark Industries. There wasn't a very fair chance that Andrew would be able to talk the scientists into getting behind the microphones and in front of the cameras, and even though it was fully within Pepper's power to force someone else to do the heavy lifting, she knew that it would fall on her shoulders. It always did in situations like these.

She turned her head just enough to glance at the clock, both checking the time and wondering how it would hold up if she were to hurl it against the wall as hard as she could. The information that she gleaned was that it was a quarter after six in the morning and no, it probably wouldn't survive.

Damn.

Pepper eventually dragged herself out of bed and settled in to deal with what was already, as Andrew put it, on her plate - her laptop on her left and a massive stack of paperwork on her right. As usual, she compulsively consulted the clock as she went along. Turn a page, check the time. Turn a page, check the time. Curse Tony's name and nature, check the time. All the while, her thoughts returned sadistically to the press luncheon on Friday. Those awful little what-ifs were returning in droves, and her head was beginning to ache.

The phone rang again at a quarter-till and she dove for it, almost dropping it as she fumbled with the buttons. "Andrew? Please, tell me it's good news."

"Uh. No news yet, per se. I've only checked with a couple of the masterminds, and none of them have really gone for it-"

Pepper gritted her teeth as she reached for her coffee, hoping to drown her headache. "Well, why _did_ you call?"

It was blunter (and ruder) than she had intended, but Andrew didn't call her out on it. "Well, I thought I'd let you know that I'm emailing you the latest draft of the docket for Friday." He coughed once. "Just in case, you know?"

The urge to throw something was back with a vengeance. "Yeah. I know."

"Right. Well." There was a pause. "I'll be in touch later on. When I know more."

"Of course. Bye."

She tossed the phone onto the table, abandoning the files she had been sorting in favor of checking her email. Even Andrew knew that she would end up giving the presentation herself - he just had enough tact to not say so.

There was a small sense of relief when nothing on the list looked unfamiliar (she was always a little bit afraid that one day it would become apparent to the world that she didn't know a car battery from a microwave, much less what made the new Stark Phone so much faster than the old one).

The program kicked off with the good stuff: the release dates for the latest staples of Stark Tech (phones, laptops, music players, etc) in addition to the latest military-grade vehicles and aircrafts. There were also a few more advanced gadgets (Tony would never forgive her if she called them "toys"), as well as a selection of more practical, defensive items: everything from security systems to tasers the size of chapstick. The technology was scheduled to take up the first full hour. Pepper winced - they were planning for Tony's easy expansion and explanation of the gizmos, something that she would be woefully incapable of. She would be lucky if she could fill forty-five minutes, even with the most detailed of notecards.

After that, a solid chunk of time was devoted to the genetically altered crops that promised to grow almost twice as fast with little to no adverse effects on the quality (as the summary described it). The final half-hour was dedicated to Stark Industry's many charities and scholarships, including - Pepper's heart leapt - a small segment dealing with the upcoming art show sponsored by the company.

_That_ was something that Pepper could talk about for hours. After all, she had hand-picked the space, the caterer, even the artist herself. But it was only allotted eight to ten minutes on the outline.

The phone was in her hand before she had entirely thought it through, but she was already dialing. Andrew answered on the first ring. "Hey, Pep. I'm talking to the tech guys right now, I swear-"

"I know," she interrupted. "I was looking over the program, and I thought that by the end, you know, people will be getting a little antsy. It's pretty long, after all. It might be a good idea to liven it up with a guest."

"Pep, I'm talking to the scientists _right now_-"

"That would be nice for the early segment, Andrew, but I was thinking of the portion dedicated to the Stark Foundation for Rising Artists. You know, to add some variation. We could invite the artist to speak for a few minutes, maybe show some examples of her work." The more she talked about it, the better it sounded. By the time the three-fourths mark rolled around in the conference, she would be dying to get some of the focus off of herself. "We'll need a little more time, though."

"Well... the thing is, the foundation isn't a direct part of Stark Industries. We only put that in the presentation to make it a little more well-rounded. Plus, it needed the publicity."

"Look, Andrew. I'm not Tony. Can he keep a room full of people entertained for two hours? Sure. Can I? Only if I get some help." She let that sink in for a moment before going on. "Besides, I'm not going to let this hijack the presentation. Like you said, the artist could use the publicity, and it'll help our image. Even if the foundation isn't a part of the company, the association with it can't hurt."

Andrew sighed on the other end. "Well... I can't guarantee you a whole lot of time..."

"I don't need a lot!" Pepper assured him, a relieved smile tugging at her mouth. "Just longer than we've scheduled."

"Right. Have you checked with the artist?"

Pepper's stomach lurched. Livy. Would she be willing to be on national television? "Not yet. I'll call right away."

"Well, let me know as soon as you get an answer. I'll keep trying to convince the boys down here, but it doesn't look too good so far."

"Just do you best. I'll be in touch."

She hung up and stared at the phone in her hand. Best to get it over with, right? Like a band-aid. No sense in worrying about it.

She had already found the number in her contacts and hit _send_ when she remembered the time. She swore, feeling her cheeks flush - getting up before six was the usual for most higher-up employees at Stark Industries, but she somehow doubted that Livy would be awake. Pepper debated hanging up quickly, but before she could, someone answered.

"H-hello?" The voice's shift was subtle, but enough that Pepper was certain she had been asleep. She winced (too late to go back now).

"Yes, hi, Livy?

"Ms... Potts?"

"Yes," Pepper rushed out, "Good morning. I'm sorry to be calling this early, and you might think I'm insane, but bear with me here. I need a favor."

There was a light pause that took five years off of Pepper's life, and then:

"I'm happy to help, of course."

She let out a shaky, grateful laugh. "Well, don't agree before you know what I'm asking. The Twenty-Third Annual Stark Industries Press Luncheon is this Friday, and since Tony is... well, unable to attend, I'm going to be filling in. I was hoping that you would be willing to help me present the portion about the art show."

"Oh. Well... What exactly are you asking me to do?"

"Not too much," Pepper promised, "just say a few words about your inspirations. Maybe show a single piece to get people's attention."

Livy was silent on the other end, and Pepper added, "If you want, we can discuss it in person, over coffee. I'm free until ten this morning."

"I would enjoy that. It sounds like a... unique opportunity." Livy said at last. There was an odd tone in her voice, almost like satisfaction. Pepper chalked it up to a crappy connection. "Shall we meet at the same place as before?"

And with that, an hour later, Pepper found herself sitting at the same table she had occupied the previous night. Nursing a cup of nearly-black coffee, she kept an eye out for dark hair. Just as she was wishing she had a better view, Livy swept in through the front door, coat fluttering behind her.

"_Bonjour_, Ms. Potts!" Her smile was infectious, and Pepper found an answering one on her lips as the other woman settled into the chair opposite her.

"Good morning, Livy. And please, call me Pepper."

"As you wish." Shrugging off the long suede coat onto the chair, she revealed a simple green turtleneck with a few necklaces dangling around her neck. Her makeup was pristine, as though she had just fixed it. Pepper felt slightly dowdy in her business attire and hastily applied mascara. Livy smoothed her hair (also perfect) and offered another smile. "I must say, I was surprised when you called."

"I'm sorry if I woke you up," Pepper grimaced, summoning a waiter. "The time was the farthest thing from my mind when I called..."

"Do not worry. I was awake." She paused to order coffee before continuing. "Many things are on my mind. But you've gotten my attention, Pepper. I admit, I'm quite curious about your offer."

"Well, it's like I said on the phone. There's a press lunch this Friday that involves me giving a long-winded presentation about everything that Stark Industries is going to do in the next six months. It's an unexpected burden, to say the least, and I was hoping that you could attend as a guest presenter. You could help me talk about your showcase." Livy tipped her head slightly to the side, glasses glinting. "I know it's really short notice, but it would be really great publicity for the show, and it would do wonders to make the presentation more interesting. If it's just me standing up there and babbling for two hours, people might actually trample one another trying to get out."

Livy laughed quietly. "I do not think it would be so. You have... what is the word? _Presence_. I'm sure that you would do beautifully."

Pepper felt the corners of her mouth creeping up again, and she reached for her coffee to hide it. "But what do you think about helping? You wouldn't have to do more than you were comfortable with. I know how scary it can be during your first time."

Livy clasped her hands on the table. "I think... it would be an excellent opportunity. I am not one for giving speeches, though, so it is possible that I could be more in need of your help than you of mine."

Pepper laughed, mostly out of relief. It was going to work. She could do this. "Don't worry; I'll give you as much help as you need." The waiter reappeared with the coffee, and Livy accepted it with a smile. "So, would you be comfortable with showing one of your pieces at the luncheon? Like a preview?"

Livy pursed her lips and shrugged her shoulders. "As long as it was in no danger of being damaged, I see no reason not to."

"Great!" Pepper reached into her briefcase, withdrawing her tablet from its depths (Stark Tech, of course). "We won't be able to pay you much, but it'll be better than nothing. I haven't got the paperwork for moving the painting- I didn't even know if you'd want to _speak_, after all - but we'll have time in the next week to sort out the details. The lunch itself starts at noon, and I'll be behind the podium at one o'clock on the dot. You won't have to get up until almost three-thirty. We'll get a solid fifteen, twenty minutes. You can talk about your past as a painter, previous shows, what inspires you - whatever you want. I'll need to read over it before you get up there, but other than that, you've got a lot of room to work. I'll pull up my calendar so we can pick another day to go over paperwork, maybe a couple sessions to practice speaking. Sound good?"

Livy nodded, a small smile playing around her lips.

"Wonderful. We can get started today if you have time, maybe pick a piece, brainstorm ideas...?" Livy nodded eagerly. "Then let's get started."

* * *

Tony added a little more irish to his coffee as Clint finished the explanation of what had happened to the building - and to Thor. "Out cold? You're _sure?_"

Clint nodded glumly as he took another gulp from his own cup. "I know. That's why I figure it's Loki - no one else can so much as _scratch_ Thor. Plus, this whole deal with the ball is right up his twisted alley."

"Yeah..." Tony sank a little lower in his chair, tapping his fingers on the ceramic mug. In the background of his processing, his exhausted brain automatically plotted out a design for self-heating coffee cups. (God, he missed the workshop...) "What do you think Fury'll do? I'm not really one for solitary confinement or ankle monitoring. Maybe some nice chains...?"

Clint snorted. "I doubt it. He's pretty fed up with being in the dark about everything - I have a feeling that he's going to actually _do_ something this time around. But hey, what's the worst that could happen? You're innocent." (Tony wondered if the _Right?_ was imagined on his part.)

"Anything to clear my name," Tony grumbled, but he felt a pang of worry all the same. He needed Loki to fix this, and fast. Preferably with limited civilian casualties. What time had he said? Noon on Tuesday? He took another gulp of coffee - that seemed like ages away.

"You don't have to sit _right_ by me, you know," Tony added to break the silence that had fallen. "I'm not telling you to go on a doughnut run," he assured Clint when the archer looked vaguely suspicious. "But you can... shoot at the fireplace. Make toast. I'm not going anywhere."

"I know." Clint grunted, scratching his chin. "But I couldn't eat if I tried. Too much adrenaline and a fucking sleepless night'll do that to you. Besides," he tapped his watch. "Natasha and Rogers were supposed to be here by now. Gotta look vigilant."

Tony tipped his head back, nodding absently. "Constant vigilance. Always important."

They lapsed into silence once more. It was normally companionable between the two of them, a long stretch of simplicity between two (usually buzzed) friends. This time, there was an undercurrent that made Tony jumpy. It manifested in the way Clint's fingers kept twitching towards his quiver, the way he tapped the countertop every few seconds and glanced at his watch.

Finally, Clint blurted, "You'd tell me, right? If something was going on?"

Tony stared at him, remembering when Pepper had said the same thing. "What happened to you believing me? I thought you were on my side here."

Clint's eyes flicked away for a moment before returning to Tony's. "I'm on the side that's against Loki, just like you and Fury."

"Well, then we've got nothing to worry about." Tony held his (guilty-as-hell) ground as Clint evaluated him, fingers tapping away on the counter. He was hoping for a "of course you're not, Tony!" or a "just kidding - I believe you, Tony." or even an "April fool's! You're off the hook!"

No such luck. "Okay. If you're sure."

"I am."

"Okay."

Tony dropped eye contact, choosing to stare into his coffee instead. He felt like a complete jackass, lying to Clint. If he was ever going to confide in someone about the challenge, a week ago, he would've said that the archer was at least in the top three (outranked by Thor because, well, he's _Thor,_ and Pepper for comfort reasons). But then he'd (unnecessarily) delivered the Chitauri's spear right into Loki's hands, and he knew that Clint would never understand that.

He glanced up to find the other man's careful gaze still resting on him, and his mouth open as though he was trying to decide what to say. But the front door slammed before Clint could speak, and he straightened as footsteps echoed from the entryway. Natasha poked her head in a few moments later, her eyes zeroing in on where Tony sat. "Stark."

"Top o' the morning." He flashed a grin, and her eyes narrowed.

Steve moved past her in the direction of the couch with a half-conscious Thor leaning heavily on his shoulder.

"You all right, big guy?" Tony called as Clint hurried over to help the Captain heave the groggy god onto the sofa.

His blonde head appeared over the edge and a blue eye blinked balefully at him. "Indeed. My injuries shall not impede me for much longer."

"That's something to be thankful for."

Tony winced at the sound of Fury's voice, but he summoned his cocksure grin as he greeted the black-clad man. "Fury! Good to see you. Care for some coffee?"

Fury didn't say a word, instead moving forward to toss a bag onto the kitchen island. Its contents clacked loudly against the granite, and Tony leaned closer with a frown.

"We found those all throughout the site," Natasha informed him from Fury's side. The two of them made for an impressive silhouette.

"What, rocks?" Tony pulled the bag open and felt his stomach drop into the basement. He wished he could follow it. He returned his gaze to the pair of agents by the door as Steve and Clint returned to the table. "Yeah. Clint filled me in on your pool theory." He pushed the bag into the center of the island, causing several of the balls to roll towards the edge. "I don't see what the big deal is."

The blue two teetered on the edge until Natasha stilled it, then rolled it over to Tony. "Hold it against the table. Tight." He did as she said, exchanging baffled looks with Clint. Then she drew her gun and fired at the sphere.

"_Shit!_" Tony nearly fell out of his chair, eyes wide. Clint and Rodgers had similar expressions, but Natasha and Fury's faces held the same stony dispassion.

On the table, the pool ball was untouched (as was his hand, thank God).

"Magic. A force field of some kind," Fury said, his voice deeper than usual compared to the ringing in Tony's ears. "Either that, or the Stark family really does have balls of steel."

"A sense of humor," Tony remarked faintly. "Finally."

Fury stepped closer, placing his hands on the island and leaning in. "There's some sort of defensive spell on every single one of these things, Stark. We couldn't destroy them if we wanted to. You want to explain this to me?"

"What, Thor didn't tell you? No? Loki got his crap back last night around ten or eleven. Vanished everything in the room like something out of_ Harry Potter_. Including my tables."

Fury's eyes narrowed. "And you didn't inform your team?"

Tony could feel the heavy stares of his teammates (sans Thor) on him as he shrugged. "It was late. We'd had a bit to drink. The way I saw it, it could wait until morning."

"I'll reiterate:_ you didn't inform your team?_"

"No." The back of his neck prickled with cold sweat, and his knuckles were white on his coffee mug. The more he thought about it, the more he realized what a complete _idiot_ he was. Fury had made a mission out of trying to pin something on him, and he had given him more than enough reason. Behind the director, Steve looked like he wasn't sure whether to look confused or outraged. Clint's jaw was locked, and his skin had taken on a sick paleness under his tan.

"Look," he tried again, "I know it looks bad. But do you really think that I'm involved with Loki? I mean, the guy threw me out of a _window_. And then he got me thrown in jail. If anything, I should be right in the middle of the search party. And if I was with Loki, don't you think I would give him something a little more technologically advanced than pool balls?"

His speech did nothing to alter Fury's penetrating stare. "You can't deny that there's a connection, Stark. Your contact in the construction site was the first we'd seen of him in months. We've had our facial recognition programs running at full power ever since the sonofabitch crash-landed a few months back, and we didn't see one _shred_ of him before you did. After that, you start getting skittish. Bailing on your conference, locking yourself in your room, your lab. Captain Rogers said that you went into a frenzy looking for a _magnifying glass_ of all things the morning of the zoo fiasco. Then the issue with the staff."

The director crossed his arms, monitoring Tony's every move with an unwavering gaze. "I'm going to end this now, Stark. Lie detector test. Anything you want to get off your chest before we begin?"

Tony blinked once, heart pounding even as he nodded solemnly. "Yeah... I ate the last of Pepper's St. Patrick's Day cookies. You know, the ones with the green icing and shamrock sprinkles."

The corner of Clint's mouth twitched, but Fury just looked skyward for a moment as though he was silently begging some higher being to flatten Tony with an anvil. "Very well. Agent Romanoff?"

Natasha moved to sit beside Tony and extended her hand. Tony eyed it warily for a moment before she sighed. "Give me your wrist."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." He sent pleading looks to the rest of them, even one at the couch, but no one came to his aid. He thought he heard Thor snore.

"Natasha is the best we've got," the director informed him sternly. "Machines can make mistakes. She doesn't."

"I find that the opposite is generally true," Tony muttered, but he still (begrudgingly) offered his wrist. As Natasha pushed up his sleeve and pressed three fingers against his skin, he felt a tiny pang of relief: at least she'd sat on his left. His right wrist held the all-too-incriminating gauntlet.

"Right, then," Fury's eye contained a gleam of satisfaction. "Some random questions to establish reference points. Your name?"

"Tony Stark."

"What color shirt are you wearing?"

"Blue."

Eyes still locked on Tony's face, Natasha nodded slightly.

Fury nodded in turn. "Now for a lie. Is there alcohol in that coffee?"

"No."

Steve made a disapproving sound in the back of his throat, and Tony sent him a dirty look as Fury continued. "When was the last time you saw Loki?"

"Last night."

"Where?"

"In Thor's storage room."

"And have you been alone with him at any point in the past week?"

"No." A blatant lie. Though Natasha's face was totally blank, a spike of panic forced his mouth open. "Actually, wait - we were alone for about two minutes in the zoo when I found him. We were fighting, thought, and I radioed the team right away."

Fury didn't look reassured. "And have you been in contact with him at any point in the past week?"

"No." Natasha's fingers shifted slightly against his skin, and he reached for his coffee with his free hand. As he took a gulp, he forced himself to relax. He tried to slow his heartbeat, wishing he'd had more time to prepare. Should he act normal, or should he concentrate on being calm?

"Have you left the premises after the installation of your house arrest this Saturday?"

He decided to try for normal. "Oh, yeah, I went club-hopping later on that night. Lots of women, decent booze." Fury's eyes narrowed, and Tony raised his palms in a placating gesture. "Okay, no-joke zone. Gotcha. No, I haven't left."

"Have you given anything to or received anything from Loki at any point in the last week?"

"No."

"Have you attempted to infiltrate S.H.I.E.L.D.'s firewalls and security?"

"Not for a while." (He could practically smell the disapproval radiating off of Steve.)

Fury didn't react. "What's 'a while'?"

"A month, minimum."

"Have you entered any S.H.I.E.L.D. facility in the last week?"

The questions went on and on, sometimes unexpected, sometimes obvious, sometimes variations of past queries. With each answer that he gave, it became more and more difficult for Tony to keep himself calm. The back of his neck was damp with sweat, and his mouth felt like sandpaper. After a while, he found himself glancing at Natasha between questions. Her indifference never flickered, even when _he_ was sure that his heart rate had faltered or jumped.

Finally, when Tony braced himself for the next question, none came. He blinked expectantly at Fury, who was nodding to himself.

"Congratulations, Stark. You passed - more or less."

Tony's eyebrows rose, and he caught Natasha's forehead crease for a split-second before flattening again. Unease aside, he forced a smile. "Passed? As in, not a suspect anymore?" (It was almost too good to be true.)

"Yes," Fury's confirmation didn't even need a chorus of angels to make it truly beautiful. "As of right now, your house arrest is suspended. However, you are under probation. Any more funny business and I'll personally throw you into solitary confinement. Got that?"

Without waiting for an answer, the Director headed for the hallway, skirting the rest of the team. "I'll be in touch. We've still got a god to catch." Tony stared after him, shock and glee warring for dominance.

As soon as he was gone, Clint scurried over and punched Tony in the arm, his grin huge. "You hear that? I told you there was nothing to worry about!" Over his shoulder, Steve nodded and offered a small smile.

"Yeah, guess not." Tony grinned back, his doubts drowned by the flood of knee-weakening relief. Clint didn't look the least bit suspicious (a nice change from the past few days). There was nothing holding him back now. He felt like he could float without the weight of his friends' distrust on his shoulders.

A small voice reminded him that just because they didn't _think_ he was guilty didn't mean that he _wasn't_, but he ignored it. He just wanted to enjoy being unshackled until he did something to screw it up again. His grin broadened the more he thought about it, and he ran for the back door, ignoring Thor's sprawled form as he passed the couch.

He burst into the gray, disgusting day and spun around with his arms outstretched, Sound of Music style. "Oh, the air! I missed the air!"

"Gotta love that smoggy, smoky, New York-y air," Clint called, nodding soberly.

Tony aimed a finger at him as he reentered the Mansion. "Laugh all you want, Barton. You actually_ left._ I've been cooped up inside for _years-_"

"Not even two days," Steve corrected, but even he was hiding a smile.

"You weren't there! The walls were shrinking, the shadows were looming, Pepper was trying to make me do _work -_ oh, God. Pepper! I've got to call her!"

He patted his pockets frantically before Clint tossed him the landline, and he sent the man a grateful look as he dialed. "Potts? I've got great - yeah, fine, I'll hold on." He tapped his foot impatiently, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, hi, so. House arrest is officially dead! I'm free! The world is my oyster once mor- luncheon? What luncheon? Yeah, I'll be there, but come _on_, Pepper! Be happy for me! Okay, fine, go back to your coffee, I'll talk to you later."

He hung up, still smiling. "_God_, this feels good. No more restrictions! I can do anything, go anywhere. Who wants to grab some doughnuts? No - I need to run by third street and restock on scotch. No-" Tony stopped suddenly, his eyes going wide as the realization hit him. "_My machines!_" He shrieked, bolting out of the living room and sprinting towards the lab. He could hear Clint chucking behind him.

* * *

Pepper and Livy hunched over the artist's portfolio, searching for the perfect example. "We really want something that shows a lot of the themes of your work to give people an accurate representation of the rest of the show. Do you have any preferences?"

"Well, these two are among my favorites," Livy began, but a muted buzzing made her pause.

Pepper went for her phone. "It's... Mr. Stark." She glanced at the clock. "Weird. He's usually not active for another few hours. I'd better get this, I'm sorry..."

Livy waved her away. "Take it, take it. I'll be fine on my own for a bit."

She smiled gratefully before flipping the phone open and standing. "Tony- Yes, hang on for a second..."

* * *

Loki pretended to puzzle over his pieces, sending quick glances over to the window. Why did Pepper have to go to the street to take the call? He couldn't hear a thing! (Not that he was eager to hear what she was saying to Stark.)

It was strange, how this was developing. Livy was meant to be a temporary character for a single purpose, but who could have foreseen Pepper's request? He may never receive an opportunity like this, to work his way into Pepper's good graces. Who knows what could happen?

He hid his smile behind a mask of calm. Even if this didn't have the potential to let him learn more about Stark, it was a pleasant distraction from his thoughts of Skurge and Amora (and last night).

The bell above the door jingled as Pepper pushed her way into the cafe, and Loki quickly pretended to be examining the seventh painting with a practiced eye. When he looked up to greet the woman, she had an odd expression on her face. "Tony says... well, he'll be able to make the conference after all."

"Oh?" Loki half-feigned disappointment. He'd actually begun to look forward to this silly lunch. The possibilities for disruption and mischief were endless, and he had at least three excellent ideas about how to involve it in the Game. Then he turned Pepper's words over in his head once more, and a slight frown appeared on his face. That meant that Stark's house arrest had been overturned. Why? What had changed?

"But I made you a promise," Pepper rushed out, misinterpreting Loki's expression. "and I'll make sure that you can still come and present. And this way, you'll get a chance to meet Mr. Stark before the art show!"

A chance to meet Mr. Stark. Loki broadened his smile so that it would not appear quite so smug and satisfied. "It will be my pleasure."

* * *

The front door opened behind Director Fury, and Natasha slipped onto the front step. Her lips were set in a tense line.

"Agent Romanoff?" He said calmly, pulling on his gloves.

Closing the door behind her, she cast a look around before she whispered, "I thought you got my cues. Stark was lying practically the whole time."

"I got them, loud and clear. Did Barton?"

"Not that I'm aware."

"Good." He set off down the front walk, and after a moment, Natasha set off after him. "Stark thinks he's caught a break. He's relaxed. That means you can catch him off guard and figure out what's really going on."

Natasha nodded in understanding. "Rogers can't know?"

"I don't trust his poker face."

"Barton? Thor?"

Fury paused at the end of the walk as a dark sedan pulled up in front. "They have conflicts of interest. Thor is blinded by his misguided love for Loki."

Natasha nodded once. "And Barton?"

"He wants to believe that Stark is a friend, and that clouds his judgement. He's always had problems being objective when he cares for someone." Fury's look was more meaningful as he opened the car door. Just before he slid inside, he paused. "You're sure that Stark isn't being controlled?"

"Positive."

He sighed, looking at nothing in particular. "I almost wish he was. It would be so much easier to deal with." The door slammed, and Natasha watched as the car puled smoothly away. After a moment, she turned and headed back up the walk.

She had a job to do.

* * *

**Ehehehe. *grins***

**I hope you all enjoyed! I'm so happy to be back in my writing zone. I missed this while I was computer-less!**

**Once more, thank you all for your reviews! This story would not be where it is today if it weren't for your feedback and encouragement.**

**I'll do my very best to update soon!**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep.**

**P.S.: I just realized that this chapter broke the 100,000 word mark. *dies* Thank you, all of you, for sticking with me all this way!**


	26. Chapter 26

**I'm so sorry about the wait, guys- this chapter just refused to be written properly. Believe me when I say that every single bit of this has been re-written at least twice.**

**Also, I've been plagued by an idea that I've finally started experimenting with, so keep your eyes peeled for a new story. This one still has the majority of my attention, make no mistake, but the new one just needs to be written before it gets away.  
**

**********On another note, I've been given an Archive Of Our Own membership by DistressedMoonchild! I'm really grateful, and super-excited about posting Dominoes on AO3. My name is the same, so look me up if you want! *grins***

**Warnings: Nothing new.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm still working on it, though...**

**Onward!**

* * *

Nick Fury threaded his fingers together and stared hard at the map that was propped up against the wall. Clusters of red dots marred it in places, and his good eye flicked over each one, noting the locations and dates.

Beside the map stood Agent George Beckett and Agent Anne Dubois, two of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s youngest recruits. They exchanged anxious looks as the silence dragged on, each one daring the other to speak first. Finally, Beckett, the older of the two, cleared his throat and said, "D-Director?" His voice cracked, and Dubois winced. They shrugged at one another when the man didn't acknowledge the word. "Do you-?"

"Quiet."

"Yes, Sir," the young man squeaked. Nothing was said for several long minutes as Fury evaluated the map.

"Same weapon each time?" He asked abruptly.

Dubois spoke up this time. "Yes, Sir. That was one of the reasons it showed up on our radar. Three different coroners separately came to the conclusion that it was an ax. A big one."

"Not a spear?"

The woman blinked in confusion. "No, Sir."

Fury didn't react. His eyes never left the red dots. "Timeframe?"

"According to the time of death estimates, they've all taken place between seven PM and five AM. But those..." Beckett trailed off, swallowing. Fury raised an eyebrow.

"Those...?"

Dubois finished for him. "Those are just the ones we've found." She moved to point to the clusters. "This one was the private residence of James Gondell and his wife, one of whom managed to call nine-one-one. This one was also private, but none of the three owners got a chance to make the call; there was a silent alarm. Both times, the residents were dead and the perpetrator was gone by the time the police showed. As for these," she tapped two others. "The rest of the bodies found were guards. One's a museum, the other's a gallery of some sort. The total number of casualties so far is-"

"Thirteen. I see."

The agent flushed, but her voice was composed as she continued. "We brought it to your attention because the intruders were able to get in and out of each site without using any doors or windows. We can't figure out how it happened. Secondary reasons include-"

"What about security footage?"

She shook her head. "That's strange, too- around the time of the break-in at every location, there was a disruption of every camera in the area. We have people examining it now, but the damage is fairly crippling."

Fury nodded. "Keep on it. You said something about secondary causes for our attention?"

"Yes- the unique weapon and the common factor in each location."

"Which is?"

"Each one contained a collection of really, really old artifacts. We're talking ancient." She stepped forward and offered Fury a few sheets of paper, each one with a color picture of a (usually ugly) object. "All different cultures, all different types of things. The size of the collections varied- the museum was the biggest, and the Gondells' was smallest."

"Anything missing?"

"Not that we can tell so far. Besides, even if it was stolen, most of this stuff is priceless. It belongs in a museum, or, apparently, a rich guy's house. No one can or will pay what it's actually worth. It's about bragging rights."

Fury nodded slowly. "And this weapon- do we know what it looks like? What it's made of?"

"The medical examiners are figuring out the size and shape as we speak, but as for its substance..." She pushed her hair out of her face, looking uncomfortable. "That's trickier. Usually, weapons that dig into bone leave particles behind, and these victims' bones are plenty mangled, but we haven't found jack-squat. Nothing from a single victim."

Fury leaned back, returning his gaze to the map. "We'll work around it. What about the press?"

"We're fairly certain that they know little to nothing about the whole thing."

"Keep it that way. Also, check the surrounding buildings for unimpaired security footage. Maybe we'll get lucky."

The agents' heads bobbed in unison.

"Yes, Sir."

"Of course, Director."

Moments passed, and Fury's gaze slid to pin the pair of them to the wall. "Now."

They jumped and nodded and blathered apologies as they sprinted for the door. Fury waited until it had slammed behind them before he rubbed his eye with a sigh and stood to trace the map with a careful finger.

An antiquing ax murderer.

Marvelous.

* * *

The heavy metal pumped through the speakers as Tony worked, crashing against the walls and rebounding. He couldn't help the smile that lingered as his fingers flew over fragments of metal. At first, he'd had trouble deciding what to do first- one second he was mapping out the gloves for the Mark IX, the next he was gathering paper-thin wires for spy-camera he'd dreamt up. He'd _missed_ this. He hadn't had time to mourn, what with the never-ending stream of Loki-related tasks (and maybe a little bit of dwelling), but the second he crossed the threshold, he felt a rush of relief. This was _his_ space. He was in control surrounded by everything that made sense in his world. (Though, even under extreme duress, he would never admit to hugging the Mark VI.)

More than anything else, he had missed the quiet in his head as he tinkered away on this and that. As his hands blurred, every nagging, plaguing thought took a vacation. He needed that, now more than ever.

Then a little bit of common sense had kicked in (if only a little). He had a pressing project, after all- the mysterious cube that was currently residing beneath his pillow.

He sighed, pushing away the prototype fingertips of the next suit. "JARVIS? Grab the elevator for me, would you?"

_Certainly, Sir._

The doors opened almost instantly, and Tony was on his way up to the second floor in no time. He leaned his head against the wall, feeling oddly fuzzy. Maybe it had something to do with getting three hours of sleep and good news.

The doors opened at the first floor, and Tony raised his eyebrows when he saw the person on the other side.

Thor's grin was blinding. "Tony! You have been released!"

"You've been... healed." There was a crust of dried blood under Thor's hairline, but the god looked as perky and happy as always. "What's up?"

"I awoke to the news that you are no longer suspected of working alongside my brother!" He boomed enthusiastically. "I take it your explanation of the Challenge of Asgard was received well?"

Tony froze, waiting for the confused questions from the team, but there was only silence as Thor looked at him expectantly. "No." He glanced around Thor anxiously and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Where's everyone else? You didn't mention the Game to them, right?"

"They have retired. 'Twas a long and unpleasant night." A pained expression pulled at Thor's face for a moment, but it quickly shifted to confusion as Tony breathed a sigh of relief. "You did tell them, did you not?"

"Uh... a little more 'not' than 'did'." Tony winced at Thor's outraged expression, and he reached out and tugged ineffectively on the god's arm. "Look, get in here and I'll explain."

Thor followed, a begrudging look on his face. After the doors were safely closed, Tony sent him a pleading look. "I thought we talked about this! It's not a good idea to tell everyone right now." (Or ever.) "I just passed a lie detector test. Somehow. Anyway, I'm all trustworthy now!"

Thor frowned, puzzling over the words as the doors slid open again. "How is such a test possible? A spell?"

"Natasha, actually." Tony shrugged, stepping into the hall. "Look, the important thing is that I've got free reign again. Things are back to normal. I'm not about to screw that up."

Thor's face was stony and stern. "You are mistaken. Only once you have spoken honestly will normalcy return."

Tony snorted. "Not likely. But hey, let's not focus on that right now. I'd really appreciate it if we could talk about the Game later. You know, help me get a handle on the rules and stuff."

Thor didn't look convinced, but he didn't push as he turned away. "As you like it."

Tony watched him go, trying not to lose the buzz of being un-arrested. But as he headed towards his room, he knew that Thor was at least part-right. As long as he was lying to his team, he wouldn't ever feel the same as he had before this whole mess had started. Maybe he never would.

He pressed the code into his door and stepped in, wincing at the smell. He must've spilled a bottle of scotch somewhere in the room at some point (maybe he'd get Pepper to bring him a shit-ton of air fresheners to take the edge off).

On a whim, he grabbed the pen and the book from the table as well as the cube from beneath his pillow. If he didn't get in touch, Loki would do... _something_ at noon tomorrow. For a moment, Tony considered letting him do it (just to be safe, after all), but then he shook off the idea. For all he knew, Operation Clear-Stark's-Name involved mass murder, a magical plague, and/or showtunes.

As an afterthought, Tony grabbed a complicated-looking clump of wires from a drawer to use as an excuse should anyone catch him on the way back down, but he was lucky - no one interrupted the elevator.

He cleared a worktable with a sweep of his arm, almost spilling his coffee all over the bench, before he sat the book down and flipped to the correspondence page, pen at the ready. After a moment of consideration, he wrote:

**_Just so you know, I'm not under house arrest anymore._**

Closing the book, he pushed it to one side and replaced it with the cube. He stared at it for a few moments, just thinking. There was no real precedence for testing magical gifts from gods, and there was no obvious way to begin. He guessed that Loki wouldn't be too pleased if he broke it or something.

Better start with the basics, right?

Tony plucked the cube from the table and made his way to his rolling chair at his main desk. "JARVIS? We're running a conductivity test. Get ready to file some data."

The conductivity test was a rousing success, but the progress slowed considerably afterwards. It was too dense to be any substance on earth. It wasn't effected in the slightest by flame or water. When Tony tried to slice off a corner to look at a sliver under a microscope, he ended up mangling every tool that he used (the cube was annoyingly pristine afterwards) and just stuffed the whole thing under the lenses. On and on it went.

Tony pushed himself away from the desk at the two-hour mark and wiped his aching eyes. It was a trick. That had to be it- Loki gave him a false clue or gift with the sole intention of distracting him.

"Well, this is what I think of _that_," Tony grumbled, rising and striding to the far wall, which was laden with tools ranging from a Phillips head screwdriver to a flamethrower masquerading as a "High-Powered Blowtorch". He grabbed a hammer from the wall and ignored JARVIS' mild warning of, _Sir, I'm not sure that violence is the answer in this instance..._

He didn't know what he expected when he swung the hammer as hard as he could onto the cube. Maybe an explosion, maybe nothing at all.

He didn't expect it to shatter into a hundred thousand pieces.

Tony blinked at the table for a moment, his eyes wide.

"Whoops."

_At least we are now aware of the element's brittleness, Sir._

"No, that... that shouldn't have happened." He lowered himself into his chair, still staring. "I mean... that can't have happened. It's not possible. You don't break a diamond with graphite."

_Perhaps there were preexisting cracks or other flaws?_

"That I missed?"

_You have not had a complete night's sleep, Sir... Perhaps you are not observing as effectively as usual._

"Yeah, right. I'd have to be a lot more than sleep-deprived to miss _this_..." Tony leaned over the table and started pushing the shards into a single pile. There weren't as many as he'd initially feared- in fact... he arranged the pieces into a little line, counting as he went. There were only thirteen, and no traces of powdered cube anywhere on the table or the hammer.

Sitting back in his chair, he eyed the row suspiciously. Asgardian elements are _weird_.

* * *

Tony eventually decided to switch gears to work on the Mark IX gloves again (mostly to keep himself from going for the hammer again). He was thinking about adding wiring in the fingertips that would apply a paralyzing shock, mostly to incapacitate the more common criminals. As he maneuvered the digital diagrams to determine how to stop the electric current at the second joint, a gust of icy air drew his attention elsewhere.

He abandoned the blueprints in favor of making sure that the book didn't turn the workshop into an icebox. Cracking it open, he immediately located the response to his earlier notification:

**_Yes, I am already aware of the change in your situation._**

Tony frowned and groped for the pen before he could think better of it.

**_What do you mean, already aware? How do you know?_**

The answer was instantaneous.

**_There is little that is beyond my power, Stark._** (Tony took a moment to be thoroughly freaked out by that before reading on.) **_However, the reasons behind your release perplex me. How exactly did it come about?_**

**_I guess that'll just stay beyond your power._** Tony paused. **_ By the way, what was your plan to clear my name? Midday on Tuesday?_**

There was a beat just long enough to pique Tony's interest before the next words appeared. **It is no longer of consequence. **

**_It is to me._**

**_If you truly desire the answer, perhaps an exchange is in order. Ask again at our next Juncture._**

The thought of being in the same room as Loki sent Tony's thoughts down an unexpected road, and he pushed away the persistent fragments of dreams that nipped at his thoughts.

**_We'll see. _**

**_Indeed. In the meantime, enjoy your freedom, and expect clues for next Challenge any day now._**

**_Wonderful_**, He wrote, hoping that sarcasm could be sensed through the ink. Another Challenge. Hopefully he would have a shot at winning this one. He tapped the pen against the paper a few times before his curiosity got the best of him, and he wrote, **_Are you still angry?_**

The reply took quite some time to appear, and when it did, it was wholly unsatisfying:

**_Anger is unhelpful in this instance._**

Tony frowned. **_You didn't answer the question_**.

**_What does that matter?_**

**_It means that you're still mad._**

**_But what does it matter?_**

Tony didn't have a satisfying answer to that one. **_It just does._**

His ears popped, and he blinked in surprise at the sensation. He hadn't quite put two and two together before Loki's voice sounded.

"I wish you would let this rest."

Tony jumped and whirled, knocking his coffee mug onto the floor. Loki raised an eyebrow disdainfully and eyed the mess. "Charming."

"You-you-?" Tony swallowed, trying to control the cocktail of shock and excitement that was pumping adrenaline into his blood. "Why are you-?"

"It seemed that written words did little to stop your incessant queries. I thought it more prudent to dissuade you with speech."

Tony was having a bit of trouble concentrating on the words that were being spoken. Loki looked as though he had gotten a brilliant night's sleep after he had left Tony to his own devices. His face was smooth and calmly stoic, showing faint annoyance. "So... you're only here to dissuade me?"

Loki's head tilted, and for once, Tony noticed that his neck looked just that much longer and whiter and more inviting when he did. He blinked realized that Loki had replied. "Sorry?"

The god sighed heavily, as though this encounter had just become _that_ much more unbearable. "An apology made out of obligation rarely holds true remorse." Tony had no time to correct him before he continued. "I would prefer that you simply abandon this line of inquiry. It is becoming redundant."

"But I don't want you to be mad at me! Or, you know, at all, but that's kind of a lot to ask for," Tony shut his mouth before he could begin to babble in earnest.

There was a minuscule line between Loki's brows, and his eyes were narrowed. "Why should it concern you? It's not as though you care what I think of you."

"I _do_ care."

The words were said with far too much heat, too much fervor. Tony stilled as they vibrated in the air, resonating in the total silence that followed. He was numb with the dual realization of _holy shit, I really just said that_, and _holyfuckingshit, I kind of _meant_ that._ Loki's face was blank, like a canvas, but the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly as though he was getting ready to frown or smile or laugh or sneer but couldn't pick just one.

Acidic amusement prevailed in Loki's tone, burning with each word. "You... care. How quaint."

Tony flinched. Defensiveness swelled in his chest, fed by the sleepless night and the confused lump of feelings that lurked somewhere beneath his collarbone. "I care about what you _think_, not about _you_," he snapped.

Loki raised an eyebrow in response to the sudden shift in tone. "Good. There is no place for sentiment in the Game."

"'Sentiment'. God, you act like it's a disease. Would it kill you to act like a person for once?"

"I am not a person." Loki's gaze had gone vaguely sharp. "I am an Asgardian, and I am royalty. The manner in which I _act_ is that of a prince."

"An ice prince, maybe." Tony faltered as Loki's eyes widened, then narrowed to slits.

"Oh?"

It was barely a word, but Loki voiced the question in a deadly, dark whisper that made the hair on the back of Tony's neck stand on end. The god's face darkened, as though a light behind his skin had dimmed. With a sinking feeling, Tony wondered if he had just undone a week's worth of conversation and healing.

"You find me cold, Stark?"

"No, that's not-" Tony took a breath. His coffee was seeping through his socks, and Loki had taken a step closer, and this situation had seemed a _lot_ more manageable twenty seconds ago. "I didn't mean-"

"Didn't you? Surely Thor has not left his allies uninformed."

"Uninform-? What are you _talking_ about?"

Loki's face was impassive as he examined Tony. The only sound that filled the silence was the soft hum of the machinery in the background. Then he nodded brusquely. "Very well. I assume that you have received my request and will honor it to the best of your ability. I shall take my leave of you."

"Whoa, hold the phone-" Tony lurched forward, arm outstretched. His fingers touched cloth, and then-

Blackness. Silence. The fabric tugged and wiggled under his grip, and he held on for dear life.

He hit he ground face-first, driving the remaining air from his lungs. He gasped and choked and squeezed his eyes shut as his nearly-empty stomach roiled.

"You _imbecile_."

Hands gripped Tony's shoulders, pulling him into an upright position and leaning him against something soft. He cracked an eye and blearily noted the three scowling Lokis.

"You could have fallen into the Between. Have you any _notion_ of how utterly lost you would be?"

The trio rose and left Tony's flip-flopping line of sight. He tried not to throw up as he recognized the post-teleportation feeling, choosing instead to wait for Loki to come back. His eyes roved over the room in from of him repeatedly, but nothing registered in his disoriented brain. His headache dug in its claws with a vengeance.

When Loki finally reappeared (all three of him), Tony was still trying valiantly to keep down the four cups of spiked coffee. He blinked twice, half-hoping that Loki would magic the pain away. His mind felt foggy, full of headachy throbs and knee-weakening nausea. Still, one thought wouldn't quite leave his mind, and the words popped out before he could stop them. "I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?" The Lokis asked drily (Tony winced at the faint echo). They weren't quite looking at him- instead, they seemed to be focused on something in their palms.

"For... stuff. Being me. I know I did something or said something to piss you off, 'cause that's just... who I am. But I didn't mean to, whatever it was. Honest." His head gave a pulse that nearly whited out his vision, and he broke off with a groan. "God, this is worse than last time. And the time before that. And the time before that..."

"You were not anchored to me as you had been previously. You now pay for your precarious grip with exacerbated pain."

Ignoring the big words, Tony struggled to focus on one of the faces swaying before his eyes. "Do you forgive me?"

The Lokis sighed, fingers pausing in whatever it was they were doing. "I do not forgive simply because I am asked. Nor," he added, his voice a bit strange, "because the asker _cares_."

Tony glowered. "I don't care."

Three eyebrows rose, and something was tugging at their mouths- a smirk or a smile? "My mistake. You seemed so sure."

Tony wondered if he could flush while his brain imploded. It seemed possible. Probable, even.

Before he could speak, Loki took his hand. He started at the feel of the cool skin, his eyes darting between the faces and the pale fingers in the split-second before the Lokis handed over several small, hard somethings. Oddly enough, he could only feel one in his palm.

"A charm. Incomplete, but it should aid you in the future during and after your teleportation."

He lifted it to eye-level, frowning. It looked like a little wire box, each side barely an inch long. One panel even swung out like a little door. "Um. Thanks." He glanced back at them. "How does it work?"

"I am confident that you will discover it in your own time." There was the smirk. "In the meantime, I shall return you to your home."

"Wait," Tony reached out, aiming for one of the Lokis' arms and missing. They reached out to steady him; the hand(s) on his shoulder had a surprisingly welcome weight. "Are you still mad?"

The trio let out exasperated sighs. "If I assure you that I am not, will you let this be?"

"Not if you're lying."

"I make no promises."

Tony huffed out a frustrated breath, ignoring the answering pang in his head. "I said sorry because I am. I admit, ninety percent of my apologies are total BS, but I meant it this time. With the whole Starbucks thing, I assumed that it was you because... well, don't hit me, but it _sounded_ like your kind of shindig, and I also really, really didn't want there to be someone else."

They were still, considering his words. "You wished it to be me?"

"No! Look, I'm _trying_ here-"

"Because you care."

Tony's hand tightened involuntarily on the charm. "No-"

"Then what separates this apology from the other ninety percent?"

Tony closed his eyes and grimaced. "I have an idea- let's talk about this when _you_ have a massive headache. It might level the playing field."

The hand on his shoulder shifted upwards, wrapping around the back of Tony's neck. His eyes snapped open just in time to catch a snatch of that black, overwhelming emptiness. The journey lasted a heartbeat, but it was long enough. The ear-splitting roar crashed through Tony's body and rattled every thought in his mind; fear pierced his chest with ice-

Then his back hit the workshop floor. The agony in his head redoubled for a split-second before a second hand pressed against his cheek, smothering the pain until there was no trace.

"Did- did you hear...?" Tony trailed off as he blinked up at Loki. The god was leaning over him, his hair swaying mere inches away from Tony's face. His eyes, though solemn, were almost soft as he slowly removed his hand from Tony's face. The other lingered on the back of his neck.

As the silence drew on, neither of them dared to move. Tony tried to be afraid (because if Loki was going to slit his throat, this was as good a time as any), but he could hardly feel the fear under the intense urge to reach up and just _touch_.

The moment passed, and he felt Loki's fingers recede. There was an unreadable expression on his face just before he spoke. "I will forgive you, Stark. Just this once."

Then he was gone, and Tony was left with a charm in his palm and more questions than he could count surfacing in his head.

* * *

In his living room, Loki eyed the barely-discernable dent in the side of his couch where Stark had been leaning. His hands prickled, and not just from the magic.

_Ice prince_, he'd said.

But he hadn't known. Not really.

Loki sank into his chair with a sigh, steepling his fingers. Besides, it was impossible to truly despise Stark when he was in such a pitiful, helpless state.

_I do care_, he'd said.

Loki stretched out a hand, reaching with his magic. The cufflink slipped out of its drawer and into his hand. The silver glinted as he turned it over in his palm, tracing the three letters that were engraved on the surface.

_A.E.S._

Loki allowed himself a smile before banishing it again.

* * *

_Sir?_

Tony jolted awake, his hand clenched around the charm and the dream fresh in his mind. He was fairly sure that there had been more than one Loki.

_Sir, Agent Barton has called your cell phone. Shall I patch the audio into the sound system?_

"Sure, sure..." Tony sat up and stretched, wincing as his back snapped, crackled and popped. He'd spent at least an hour staring at the charm. His thoughts had alternated between mulling over the strange little creation and replaying the encounter with Loki over and over in his head. And if his stiff neck was anything to go by, he'd nodded off at some point.

Clint's voice emanated from the speakers, distracting him. "Tony? Tony, you there?"

"Here. What's up?" He stood, pushing gadgets and bits of metal aside until he located the Book. To his disappointment, it was room temperature. No new messages.

"I'm staging an intervention. This is your first night as a free man in two whole days, and I refuse to let you waste it tinkering away down there. We're going out."

"Bossy," Tony chided, but a smile was spreading over his face anyway. A night out might be exactly what he needed- some dancing, some drinking, some adoration from various fans. "But I'll be there. When do we head out?"

"I'll say fifteen minutes. That way, when it takes you a half-hour, it won't be so bad."

"Hilarious."

"I like to think so. See you in thirty."

The call ended, and Tony yawned. "JARVIS, what time is it?"

Half-past eight in the evening, Sir. I believe you have been asleep since eleven.

"A perfect sleep schedule for pulling all-nighters." Heading for the elevator, Tony passed his primary desk. Then he froze, turned, and gaped.

"Well. That's unexpected."

Thirteen perfect cubes sat on the desk's surface, each one as pristine and vibrant as the original. Tony flung himself into his chair and reached for the first one, holding it up to the light and testing the weight. "JARVIS? Add self-regeneration to the list of attributes for the unknown sample."

_Certainly._

As Tony ran his fingers along the edge of the cube, the realization struck him. His motions halted, and he hardly dared to hope as he pulled the charm from his pocket and set it on the table.

Incomplete, Loki had said.

He held his breath, lifted the cube to the opening, and slid it inside.

It fit perfectly.

* * *

**Not _too_ bad of a cliffy, eh? *winks* For those of you who might've forgotten, the cufflink is from a chapter many moons ago... ;)**

**I'll do my best to have the next chapter up soon, but with the way work is looking, I may have a project coming up. But hey, I can always use the overtime.**

**Once again, thank you all so much for your reviews! You guys do wonders for my muse, and I couldn't do it without all of you!**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep**


	27. Chapter 27

**Hey, guys. I know you all are pissed at me for making you wait so long, and I'm really sorry. I actually wrote four paragraphs about the shitfest that is the last week and a half of my life, and came _this __close _to posting it in an AN before deciding that this isn't the place for that. Maybe I'll get a Tumblr just to have a place to put my angst.**

**Anyway, I _am_ sorry that this took so long. **

**On a brighter note, we have more fanart, this time by PashaPup! The link is on my profile page. Go look!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Warnings: More of the same.**

* * *

_Monday Night_

Tony tipped his head back and let the scotch follow the motion, relishing in the burn in his throat and the buzz in his head. Clint was laughing beside him as they made their way down the street.

"I thought you were going to make that last all night."

Glancing over his shoulder, Tony sent Steve an exasperated look, but before he could properly tell him where he could stick his thoughts, Clint beat him to the punch. "We're celebrating, Captain. Loosen up! And besides, we're almost there." He gestured towards a squat little pub about a half-block from them. "In fact, we should try to finish this... bad form to go into a place like Basher's with your own liquor."

He snatched the flask away from Tony and took a long draught, ignoring Tony's attempts to steal it back.

"Are we not on our way to indulge in drink?" Thor asked from behind them, sounding confused.

"Just a little preamble," Tony managed to pry the alcohol out of Clint's hand to drain the last few drops before stowing it in his pocket. His fingers brushed against the charm as he withdrew, reminding him why he had decided to start drinking early. The entire day made him want to drink just so he would be able to stop (over) thinking everything that had happened. His thoughts seemed to gravitate towards Loki- glaring at him, hovering above him, pressing the charm into his palm-

He shook it off, resisting the urge to touch the charm again, and instead focused on their destination.

Basher's Pub was an unlikely spot to find a group of heroes, but that was what made it a good place to start out the evening. They planned to move on to the more crowded venues once the club-goers were too drunk to recognize them. It helped that Natasha and Clint knew the owner. Art Eagan was a short, stocky man who liked kicking out rabble and paparazzi almost as much as he liked heckling Captain Rogers for not drinking anything that had a drop of alcohol in it. The esteemed establishment itself looked smaller than a shoebox upon first inspection, but once the decades-old smoke thinned a little, it seemed to stretch back all the way to Canada.

Tony and Clint lead the charge inside and made a beeline for the bar, where Art was already setting out a myriad of tumblers and glasses.

"Great to see you, barkeep," Tony chirped. One of Art's grey-speckled eyebrows twitched up, but he didn't look too miffed (this time).

"Same to your credit card, Stark."

Tony turned to Clint as the others settled in around them. "Told you he missed me."

"Whatever you say, Tony," Clint's smile broadened before he turned and addressed Art. "We'll have the usual."

"When d'you not?" Art's hands flitted about, filling up a jug of beer for Thor and pouring Natasha two shots of vodka at the same time. He had a dexterity that sometimes gave Tony the impression that he knew Clint and Natasha from more than just post-job drinks. But he never asked (because then someone would probably have to kill him). And besides, he wasn't one to complain about fantastic service.

"I," Clint began solemnly once they had all received their drinks, "would like to propose a toast to the freedom of one of our own, who- let's face it- would have driven the rest of us batshit-crazy if he had stayed in the Mansion for much longer."

"Hear, hear," Natasha muttered sarcastically, but she raised one of her shot glasses anyway.

Glasses clinked, and everyone took a healthy swig of their poison of choice. Tony was beginning to get that warm, fuzzy feeling again until Steve spat out his drink all over the floor and coughed wetly. "Art," He rasped, eyes watering. "This isn't root beer."

"S'not? My bad, Captain. Must've given you something stronger by mistake." The bartender didn't look the least bit sorry as he busied himself with a fresh drink.

Tony and Clint hid their grins behind their glasses as Steve glared at everyone, but his sour mood lightened after a few moments.

Eventually they broke apart- Clint dragged Steve over to the new (yet half-functional) jukebox, horrified that the Captain had never so much as _heard_ of one. Natasha stayed by the bar, talking to Art as he bustled around filling drink orders.

Tony would've normally been at Clint's side in a heartbeat, poking fun at Steve and making sure that ACDC had (more than) its fair share of playing time, but as he took a step after them, a heavy hand clapped itself onto his shoulder, almost making him stumble.

"Tony. Might we speak?"

Thor's eyes were serious despite the comically large juge of beer in his hand, and Tony nodded glumly.

"Yeah, sure. Let's snag a booth. And more scotch."

Tony felt marginally better when there was a backup tumbler waiting for him to finish the first, but it didn't alleviate the squirmy feeling that bloomed in his gut whenever Thor looked directly at him.

"I will speak my mind," he rumbled, blue eyes seeming almost dull in the dimness of the bar. "I disapprove of your lying to our friends. I think it dishonorable and unfair to them." Tony opened his mouth to protest, but Thor continued. "However, I understanding that you are acting this way in order to... protect them. And as it is your burden to bear as you see fit, it is not my place to demand that you act a certain way, no mater how much it pains me to hear lies falling from your tongue as they do from my brother's."

"Whoa, hey-" Tony raised one palm, wrapping the other around his scotch. "I'm nothing like Loki."

Thor's eyebrows pulled together slightly. "I see certain similarities."

"What, we both have rugged good looks and can appreciate a good practical joke?"

The god was unimpressed. "You lie, even though such falsehoods are rarely needed. You create things that few, if any others, are capable of understanding. You care-" (Tony flinched slightly at that; Thor didn't seem to notice) "-but have trouble making your affection known. You do not work well with others-"

"Did you have a point?" Tony snapped. His knuckles were white as he started on the new glass. His head felt too full somehow as his mind broke down everything that Thor had just said and analysed each word (_Lie. Create. Care._)

Thor's gaze was one part hurt, two parts frosty. "I intended to offer my services as needed throughout the remainder of the Game, as you have never played previously."

"Oh." He wanted to slap himself. "Well, sure. Since you offered."

Thor nodded and lifted his jug to his mouth in a swift, smooth mtion. Tony half-expected him to slosh it over his front, but he didn't spill a drop. "However, before we begin, I wish to discuss my brother's recent actions with you."

Tony eyed him suspiciously to hide the faint, fluttery panic that was beginning to rise in the back of his throat. "This isn't going to get mushy, is it? Because I think we should wait until I've had at _least_ three more of these before we get to that."

Thor ignored that. "Last night, his manner was most unusual."

"Yeah, he threw you off a building. I heard." (But that wasn't actually so unusual, come to think of it.) "But that seems like more of a family issue. You know, it's got nothing to do with me."

"I am not so sure."

Tony's eyebrows rose. "About which part?"

"Your lack of involvement. It is not my intention to accuse," He added as Tony started to protest, "but Loki spoke and acted unlike himself when we spoke of you and the Game. Compounded with his recent treatment of you, what with the healing..."

Thor trailed off, searching for the right words. "It is confusing. I feel that there is much that I have not been privy to. Perhaps my brother's outlook on Midgard has been changed somehow."

"Oh, no. He's looking out the same as he's always been. Calls me irritating and stupid every two seconds. Occasionally threatens violence. That sort of thing." Tony gulped his scotch and waved at Art, who nodded in understanding.

"Did you speak to him at all prior to his actions last night?" Thor persisted, ignoring Tony's shushing motions as a waitress set another tumbler on the table.

"It wasn't..." Tony tipped his head back and let out a noisy breath. "Yeah, I might've written some stupid things in the book that ticked him off, but this was after he threw a _knife_ at my head, and I was a little drunk, so I really don't think he had a right to be _that_ offended. But it's okay," Tony added quickly at Thor's ominous eye-narrowing, "We made up. We're besties now, honest."

Thor was still peering at him. "Your words were enough to agitate him? Your opinions?"

"Well, yeah."

A roar came from the other side of the room, and the pair of them twisted around to locate its cause. On the Jukebox, a full band was starting up, complete with a crooning singer that Tony couldn't quite place. Clint was punching an embarrassed-looking Steve in the arm while cheering, "He's cured! _He's cured!_"

"Of what is he cured?" Thor asked, sounding both bewildered and amused.

"Dunno. Maybe his 1940-ness."

"I see." They settled back into their seats, and Thor reached for his jug. "I suppose it would be useless to demand to know your words?"

"Like I said, it was stupid." Scotch poised by his lips, he paused for a moment. "Why's that such a big deal? People care- I mean... care about what other people think. It's not unusual."

The god shook his head. "Loki is not concerned with the opinions of others, especially Midgardians; he holds your race in the lowest regard." (Tony did his best to ignore that.) "Even on Asgard he never rose to taunts or insults. He even convinced me not to pursue the fights on his behalf."

Tony watched a bead of condensation trickle down the jug's handle. "You sure it didn't bug him? Before, I mean?"

Thor's face creased and took on a bemused expression. "Of course. He is my brother, Tony. I know him well."

"Yeah," he said quietly. The drop of water hit the table, leaving a dark spot on the unvarnished wood. "I know you do."

Still, Loki's words echoed in his ears, bleak and a little bitter as they described the virtues of _controlling_ anger, _hiding_ it, _using_ it. Never giving in to the Asgardian way of quick tempers and fists.

"But we may speak more of that at a later time. You have questions regarding the game, I assume?"

"Tons," Tony muttered, leaning forward and sending a quick glance at Natasha. She and Art were engrossed in some discussion, but he was fairly sure that she had been sitting farther away at the beginning of their conversation. "But I think we've risked enough talking about all this here. We'll go over the important stuff tomorrow morning."

"As you wish."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Don't you dare get all Princess Bride on me, big guy."

* * *

"I don't even care that it's a song older than dirt- you figured out the jukebox. That's something worth a celebration." Clint beamed at him, only halfway to true drunkenness at that point. "I'll grab another round, see if I can convince Art to slip you a little tequila or something."

"No, Clint-" Steve took a half-hearted step after him as the archer danced away. "Root beer, I just want _root beer_-"

But he wasn't listening. Steve sighed and turned back to the machine, listening to the song over the hum of the bar. It wasn't what he'd expected; he remembered "Take the 'A' Train" as a jazzy number by Duke Ellington, not this "Ella Fitzgerald" person, but it was still nice to hear the familiar tune. It had been a favorite of his before he went to war, and it still was. A small smile tugged at his mouth- he had many memories of standing alone in dance halls, tapping his feet to this song and dreaming of the perfect partner.

The smile slipped, just a little.

A tap on his shoulder distracted from his sobered mood, but when he turned, there was no root beer (or anything else) waiting for him. Instead, the stranger beamed and offered his hand.

The man was well into his seventies, with hair that was thin and white, like morning mist, and liver spots dotting his exposed face and hands. A grin creased his cheeks as Steve turned to face him fore fully. "Mr. Rogers! Forgive me for bothering you."

"Not at all- do I know you?" Steve asked awkwardly as the man shook his hand with surprising strength.

"Oh, no, you're from before my time, believe it or not. I'm a veteran," he added at Steve's blank look. "I fought in Vietnam. You were always a hero of mine, you know."

"Oh." He smiled weakly. "Well, I'm... happy to hear it." In truth, he'd never really gotten used to people thanking or admiring him in any sort of capacity.

"The name's Timothy, Timothy Trueman. I won't bother you for long, but there's a function for veterans this coming Friday at noon, in Brooklyn. You know, Gravesend? The community center? Anyhow, I know we would be thrilled if you could stop by for a little bit. No strings attached, just... morale, you know? Some of the other guys aren't as chipper as me," he laughed a little, but there was real hope in his eyes.

"Well, I'd really like to, but it's pretty short notice..."

"We sent an invitation," Timothy added in a voice that was almost a confession, running a hand over his thin hair. "Almost a month ago, but we never heard back. You're on Fifth Avenue, right? Stark Mansion?"

"Right," Steve said, mortification spreading a flush over his cheeks. Had he really missed something like that? "Well, tell you what. I'll double-check when I get home, but I'm sure I'll be able to stop by for a little bit. Noon, you said?"

"A little bit would be more than enough," Timothy assured him, a relieved smile flashing for a moment.

Steve patted his pockets for the device that Stark gave him. "Do you have a... uh... a cell phone? So I can get in touch?"

Clint approached as Timothy handed over his card and thanked him for his time before retreating with a wide smile still in place. The archer stared after the older fellow, one eyebrow raised as he glanced back at Steve. "Look, buddy, you can really aim for someone younger than you. It's not creepy when you look a third your actual age."

"Don't be ridiculous," Steve chided, reaching for the glass with the clear liquid rather than Clint's dirty-looking concoction. "He's a veteran. There's something going on this Friday, and he asked me to go. Just as a presence, no speech or anything."

"Right." Clint squinted at him. "Isn't Tony's conference thing this Friday?"

Steve felt the flush return in spades, and he grimaced. "It is?"

He shrugged. "Don't really remember. If you want actual answers, go to Pepper. She's got that shit memorized."

"I should tell Timothy I might not make it." He peered around the bar, but there was no sign of the veteran anywhere. "I guess I'll check with Pepper in the morning," Steve sighed, sipping his drink. Then he sprayed it all over the floor, choking. "That's not-"

"Re_lax._ It's just a little rum. Not acid or anything."

Steve only glared, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

* * *

_Tuesday Afternoon_

Tony winced, shinking down in his chair as Pepper's yells filtered up through the floorboards. "JARVIS, don't tell her where I am. I've got stuff to take care of."

_She seems most displeased, Sir..._

"I know. Hell, then she hits that decible level, the whole _block_ knows."

Seated across from him, Thor's expression was one of hesitancy. "If you are needed elsewhere, Tony, I will not keep you."

"Oh, yes, you will." He sipped from his water glass, having admitted defeat to this particular hangover. (In his defense, the night hadn't ended until five AM, and had included no fewer than four bars, two clubs, and a volume of alcohol that very nearly equalled that of his body.) "C'mon. We've got somewhere between thirty minutes and two hours before Pepper kicks down the door of every room in the Mansion. Tell me how to win this thing."

Thor eyed him sternly. "There is no easy path to victory, Tony. You must toil and stretch your outermost limits before you-"

"Yeah, yeah, it won't be easy, I get it. But that's one question- what constitutes _winning?_ Is there something I have to say, or a certain number of Challenges have to be won, or what?"

"The final victory will depend on numerous portions of the Game. Primarily, it will be tied to the final Challenge that transpires, and it shall be determined..." Thor paused, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Determined...?" Tony reached for the Aspirin, glad that the two of them had chosen to meet in Thor's dim quarters instead of his own.

"By the Master of the Game."

Tony resisted the urge to throw his water glass at the wall. "So I can't win?"

"As long as Loki is objective in his decision-"

"Okay, let's just leave it at 'I can't win' and move on to the more imminent stuff." Tony took a deep breath and a gulp of water, imagining that it was something stronger. "Could you just... walk me through your average Game? Start to finish?"

"If it would help you, then I would be happy to." Thor settled back into the couch, a grin flashing for a moment as he thought back to his youth. "In our first Game, Loki and I were initially challenged by Perunu and Patollo, two older, court-bread youths who were eager to best Asgard's princes. We accepted, of course, and received our Gauntlets with pride. Mimir, a member of our father's court, served as Master. He Challenged us in verse, which Loki never failed to unravel in moments. First, he asked us to fetch stars from the earth, and we retrieved the finest white gems from the dwarves' mines. At the Juncture that followed, Loki relieved Patollo of his throwing-knives.

"The Challenges afterwards came and went in a similar fashion; it was not in our opponents' natures to communicate through the Correspondence Page, nor did we instigate such camaraderie. In truth, I believe that Perunu and Patollo assumed it would be simple to best a pair of soft, untested princes," Thor laughed to himself, lost in the past. "Patollo in particular became incensed by our victories, as Loki insisted upon claiming his elf-made weapons. The two of them quickly became enemies, though Perunu and I had no particular quarrel with one another. It was no surprise that Patollo dared Loki to engage in _Holmgang_, and my brother accepted-"

"Hold on- engage in a _what?_"

"_Holmgang_." Thor frowned at him. "Have you not been informed of the duel?"

"Uh. That would be a negative."

"It is a fight between two opposing Players of the Game. To initiate it, one call out one's challenge and clasp one's Gauntlet. It is fairly unusual, for the defeated player is completely at the mercy of the victor. Should he fail to meet the winner's demands, his life is forfeit."

Tony recoiled slightly, still surprised by the harsh reality of the Game. Those were some tough rules. "And Loki won?"

"Of course. Though, I admit, I worried for him. His magic is by far his greatest weapon on the battlefield, and I feared that using only the Gauntlet would leave him at a disadvantage."

"Whoa, wait. This?" He pushed his sleeves up to show the gleaming metal that encased his wrist. "This is a weapon?"

Thor's tone was almost astounded. "Loki did not inform you of the Gauntlet's nature?"

"He told me it calls Junctures and stuff."

"Hm. It had more uses than that." Thor gestured for Tony to come closer, and with a slight wince, he stood and made his way over to the couch. "Gripping it with your whole hand will call a Juncture, yes, but the runes respond differently to your fingers." Thor moved to touch the Gauntlet, but Tony flinched away.

"Whoa, whoa, won't that... do something?"

"Peace, Tony. It responds to your touch alone. I will merely demonstrate."

Tony reluctantly offered his arm, tensing when Thor tapped his fingers against the band of metal. The hair on the back of Tony's neck bristled with the wrongness of it- it was a bizarre, gut-sense that warned against this.

"One finger reduces the Gauntlet to its truest form, the dueling glove. Two fingers will issue the challenge of _Holmgang_. Then, of course, three will allow you to smooth the Gauntlet so that you may write upon it with the Book's quill." Blue eyes flicked up to meet Tony's. "To send a message. I never had need of it, but perhaps you will find it of use. Perhaps you should carry the pen on your person?"

Tony gently pulled his arm from Thor's grasp. "Right. Will Loki know if I do any of that?"

"Without a doubt. You must take care not to instigate _Holmgang_ on accident, else Loki will-"

A hearty pounding on the door interrupted him, and Thor looked up in surprise. Tony winced as a voice filtered through the walls:

"Tony Stark, get out here _now!_ I have three committees and a caterer on my ass, and I need you to man up and make some decisions."

There was an expectant pause, and Tony put a finger to his lips to hush Thor. "She doesn't know for sure. She's bluffing."

The furious knocking resumed. "I know you're in there! JARVIS ratted you out."

Tony turned his face towards the ceiling and scowled. "Traitor."

_Miss Potts issued a level-three emergency status that overrode your order, Sir. I am sure that you will be able to resume your conference after a brief discussion with her._

"Yeah, right," Tony muttered, but got to his feet anyway. "We're not done," he assured Thor, snagging his glass of water from the coffee table and heading for the door. He almost forgot to shove his sleeve back down over the Gauntlet.

"Thank God," Pepper grabbed him by the elbow when he appeared and dragged him down the hall, expecting him to bolt. "I have a meeting with Livy, the artist, later this afternoon, and I need to be able to tell her how much time she'll have to present, where she'll sit, and when the movers for the painting will meet her. Andrew wants to know if you approve the changes to the menu- plus one appetizer, minus one dessert. Also, I have about eighteen thousand things that need your signature."

"I'll sign three."

"Tony..."

"Fine, fine. Six."

Pepper glared as he held open the door to his room for her. The smell of scotch assailed them both. "Have you even _looked_ at the notes for your presentation?"

"Nope. _Hey_-" He stared in shock at Pepper wrenched his glass away from him and tossed it across the room. "_Potts_-"

"No more alcohol until you can recite them in your sleep," She insisted, crossing her arms over the bulky black binder that she held.

"That was water."

Pepper faltered a bit, but quickly recovered. "Well, I'll get you another glass after you've signed off on the finalizations for this event. _Four days_, Tony. That's all we have. Most of this should've been finished and in the books _weeks_ ago."

"Yeah, well, I've been busy."

"I heard." Pepper steered him towards the couch and pulled a pen out of thin air before thrusting it at him. "Here. Start signing."

Sighing, Tony resigned himself to his fate.

* * *

Pepper found herself smiling as she and Livy reviewed the schedule for the press conference. Tony had been totally unhelpful in deciding the timing of the whole thing, so she had chosen a twenty-minute slot, vowing to drag Tony away from the podium herself if he tried to go over his limit. Now, it was just a matter of making sure Livy was prepared for speaking to the world.

Pepper tapped her pen against the diagram, pointing out the central table. "The presenters and the guests of honor- or both, in your case- will be sitting here, in the middle. It's a straight shot to the podium. I put you here by me, since you won't know many other people... Hey, you know what? I bet we can squeeze in a few more people if you want to bring a friend!"

Livy's smile faded slightly. "That isn't necessary, Pepper."

"Oh, come on! I'm sure there's someone you want to bring. Friend, boyfriend, anyone!" She waited expectantly, but Livy's gaze was fixed on a drop of spilled coffee on the tabletop.

"I don't think it matters."

"Well, of course it does! You're going to be on TV, talking about your art! There's got to be someone that you want to share that with."

"No. There isn't." Livy's words were like a cracking whip, swift and sharp. Pepper drew back slightly in surprise, her eyes flitting over Livy's thinned lips and the death-grip that she had on her mug.

Comprehension dawned to some degree, and guilt surged in Pepper's chest. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

Livy glanced up from the table at last, her eyes softening. "No, I am sorry. My tone was unacceptable."

"It was my fault," Pepper insisted. "I shouldn't have pushed."

"You were being kind," Livy offered a small smile. "A little push is not such a bad thing, is it?"

Pepper shrugged, reaching for her coffee just to have something to do with her hands. "Sometimes, maybe. But there's a right and a wrong time for that."

Livy's dark hair shimmied as she shook her head. "Not at all." There was a pause, but before they could lapse into uncomfortable silence, she added, "Should we continue? I am sure we have much yet to discuss."

Briefly hesitating, Pepper nodded and reached for the next stack of papers. "These are the moving permits for the painting. Have you picked one?" Livy nodded. "Good. I know it's short notice, but it seems like moving it the night before would be simpler, and would make the set-up easier. In fact, if you wanted, I pick you up at your apartment and take you to the Peninsula, the hotel where we're hosting the luncheon. That way, we could do a run-through of whatever you want to say. What do you think?"

Livy pursed her lips, looking over the legal forms. "I believe it would work out. What time shall I expect you?"

* * *

Natasha knelt by the door to the workshop, examining the keypad with a flashlight. It was sophisticated- compounded key-coded and fingerprint-encrypted technology.

She pulled a thin metal tool from her pocket and set about looking for a seam to pry the keypad away from the wall, mentally reviewing her notes as she went.

Stark lied consistently during his test.

He'd been spending more time with Thor than usual, as well as an inordinate amount of time in his lab.

His moodiness and drinking had increased tenfold over the past week.

He displayed signs of guilt and deception at every turn.

He had shown signs of injuries that faded quickly- the mystery limp from a few days ago, to name one.

Natasha frowned, focusing on the pane beneath her fingertips. It seemed to have been welded to the wall itself, which would be nearly impossible to pry apart without noticeably damaging it.

Just as she retrieved the fingerprint dust from her back pocket, voices rose steadily at the end of the hallway. Natasha cursed inwardly as she tucked the powder away and dove around the corner.

"Just own up! You don't have one _bit_ of respect for me, or for anyone other than you and your reflection-"

"Oh, get off your high horse," Tony snapped back, and Natasha drew back slightly as the voices came closer. "Why would I steal your mail? Clint's the one who subscribes to _Playboy_; you just get a bunch of letters from little girls who want to borrow your costume for Tween Miss America pageants."

(Natasha added stealing mail to the list of potential issues.)

"Like you need a reason. You're petty and childish, and you refuse to let other people be happy. This-" (paper crinkled) "-came from a group of people who at least deserved an RSVP."

"Then go!" Tony exploded. "If I'm such scum and they're so spectacular, I wouldn't want to hold you back. Jeez, Cap, you make me out to be a fucking _supervillain..._"

Natasha pursed her lips. _That's to be determined, Stark._

"I will go!" Steve blustered. "You've got enough lackeys. You won't miss me."

"Think you could get an early start? I'm missing you _not_ being here."

"Fine. Try not to mess up again."

Footsteps faded, and Natasha inched her way towards the doorway in time to see Stark, muttering, disappear into his workshop. She hurried forward, casting a quick look to make sure that Steve was leaving for good, and set to work dusting for Stark's prints.

* * *

_Wednesday_

Clint was in the middle of a yawn when he picked up the phone, so his greeting was more of a "-lo?" than an actual hello. He added a quick: " Avengers Mansion?" to make it sound more official.

"Hello, this is Janet Delaney. To whom am I speaking?

He paused, frowning. Was that name supposed to mean something to him? And wasn't there some sort of screening system for random calls?

"Hello? Are you there?"

Clint cleared his throat. "Hawkeye. I'm Hawkeye."

"Very good. I'm calling on behalf of the Morgan Stanley Children's Hospital."

"Um. Why?" He glanced around to make sure that there weren't any kids running around the Mansion without his knowledge. (None made themselves known.)

"I'm calling about the scheduled visit for Hawkeye and Thor at eleven o'clock this Friday. We have on the books that the pair of you agreed to come in to visit the children of Wards C, D, and F."

"Um." Clint twisted around to squint at the calendar at the far side of the room. "Really? Huh. We, uh..."

"If this is a bad time, Sir, I can call back later."

"Well, you see..." He swallowed as he saw _Hospital Visit 11 - Clint and Thor_ written in Pepper's neat handwriting right above the words _Press Luncheon noon - all available Avengers_. "I don't know if we'll be able to make it-"

"Mr. Hawkeye," The voice on the other end turned very stern. "If you and Thor are unable to attend for anything other that _official_ Avengers business, I can assure you that there will be several floors of _very_ disappointed, _very_ sick children in my hospital, and I will _personally_ refer any and all upset parents to your Mansion. Am I clear?"

Clint pulled the phone away from his ear to stare at it for a disbelieving moment before gingerly returning it. "Um. Yes. Clear."

"Very good," the woman replied sweetly. "I'll meet you out front at ten forty-five."

"Okay. Sure." He shoved the phone back onto its cradle, feeling a little nauseous.

* * *

_Thursday Afternoon_

Loki looked around the apartment, carefully seeking out anything that might seem odd or unusual. Blank canvases masquerading as his paintings were secure under their sheets save for the one he intended to transport to the hotel- the rest lingered at his true residence. Around the cramped space were shoddily made furniture- an overstuffed armchair, a three-legged table, cracked lamps. The perfect cover.

When Pepper had mentioned coming to pick up the paintings for the gallery, he had been thrown. He couldn't exactly allow her to traipse through his apartment, meddling in objects of magical worth and uncovering him as he truly was. Instead, he had set about organizing this smaller space, even falsifying documentation in the name of Olivia Roy.

On the table, the phone began to vibrate in odd, jittery bursts, making the unstable structure wobble ominously. He closed his eyes and reached for the magic, feeling it shape his features into the face and body that he envisioned. When his eyes opened again, they viewed the world through the polished lenses of Livy's glasses. Picking up the phone, he checked the display before answering.

"_Bonjour_, Pepper!"

"Hey, Livy! I'm downstairs with the movers. Is the painting ready to go?"

"Of course!" He waved his hand, conjuring a wooden crate and encasing the painting within it. Another wave, and it lifted itself up and hurried to hover at his side. "I'll let you in immediately."

"Great! See you soon."

The instant he hung up, Loki placed a hand on the crate and teleported downstairs, taking a moment to transform his Midgardian clothing. While the dark suit fit his true form quite well, it was not the proper attire for Miss Roy to wear. Once he was satisfied, he reached for the doorknob.

Pepper turned quickly when the door opened, a smile appearing on her face (Loki ignored the fact that his was only partially manufactured). However, her greeting faltered when she looked past Loki into the cramped lobby of the building. "You carried it down yourself?"

"Hm? Oh, _oui. _It is not so heavy."

Pepper shrugged and grinned. "Well, that makes their job easier," she gestured to the two men who leaned against the steps' railing. "But come on- they'll bring it the rest of the way. We can get in the car and head on to the Peninsula."

"Certainly," Loki followed Pepper to the car, skirting the appreciative eyes of the movers as he went. It took a great deal of willpower not to turn them into shrubbery for their insolence.

"I'm really looking forward to seeing your work in person!" Pepper piped up as they slid into the car. "I'm sure the pictures in your portfolio don't do them justice."

"Yes," Loki responded quietly. As he thought it over, he contained the small smirk that tugged at his face, transforming it into a sweet, sincere smile. "It is my sincerest hope that you will find them... magical."

* * *

**Ehehehehehe... *grins***

**I was kind of tired of this story going at its current pace, so I thought I would speed things up a little. Don't be fooled- this chapter is deceptively important. Lots of stage-setting and the like. *winks***

******I wish I could promise imminent updates, but things are crazy and shitty in the aforementioned shitfest-life, and I don't really see an end to it. This story and you, my fabulous readers, are my saving graces right now. I can't thank you enough for your**** patience, and for your continuing support and feedback. I am so lucky to have you guys- thank you!**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep.**

**P.S.: Despite my tardiness, this is the longest chapter yet! *victory lap***


	28. Chapter 28

**Okay, I had this thing _outlined._ As in, I sat down and _planned this_. And so, naturally, it went in a totally different direction once I started writing it. *facepalm***

**Thank you all for your kind words and feedback! I worked extra-hard to get this written for you all. I hope it meets all of your expectations!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Warning: The usual, plus some injuries. Nothing too graphic.**

**Onward!**

* * *

The room was broad and tall, colored in lush golds and creams. The curtains cloaking the elongated windows were heavy velvet, the kind that billionaire-philanthropists used to keep unwelcome rays of sunlight out of his room throughout the day. Dangling from the ceiling, the chandeliers only added to the room's luxurious, secluded nature. The round tables were, for once, naked - the absence of cloths and cutlery allowed the observer to appreciate the rich mahogany of the polished surface. Each chair back was carved into a round, old-fashioned style.

The outliers were few, but noticeable. A podium stood at the head of the room, its wood much darker than that of the tables and chairs. Off to one side was a sheet-swathed easel, just a bit too white to blend with the rest of the room.

Equally out of place were the two women occupying the vast space on their own. One shifted awkwardly behind the podium, fumbling with a couple of cards, and the other sat more comfortably in one of the chairs.

At the podium, Loki cleared his throat. "So I... begin anytime?"

"Whenever you're ready," Pepper confirmed. Her pen hovered expectantly above a yellow pad of paper. "It's only a practice speech to get a sense of your rhythm, pace, that kind of thing. And you'll be more comfortable tomorrow."

Loki only smiled in response, tapping his fingers against the podium in mock-nervousness. He had researched this- it was practically a tradition for Midgardians to experience hesitation and anxiety prior to giving a speech. And Livy, trapped outside of her native tongue, would certainly not be exempt from these setbacks. A performance was in order, one in which the importance of his mannerisms nearly surpassed that of his words and accent. The complexity was simple in comparison to his other plights - comforting, even. Donning a mask was akin to embracing an old friend.

"Very well. I..." He paused and collected himself, though he was more at ease than he had been in quite some time. "I am honored to be among you today, and I am quite grateful to be chosen- to have been chosen by the Stark Foundation for Rising Artists as this year's recipient." He swallowed, looking down at notecards that were blank. "I'm sorry, that was awful..."

"No," Pepper protested, sitting up straighter in her chair. "You're doing fine. Intros are always a little awkward the first time around. If you want, we can skip ahead to the art- our goal is just get you comfortable up there."

Loki nodded, reaching up to smooth his hair. It tickled his cheeks on occasion, quite different from his usual style, and it could be distracting. "My art... my art has always been a part of my life. When I was young, my parents simply could not understand why I chose to sit at my desk with a watercolor set instead of dancing with my sister." He hesitated, shuffling the cards. Pepper gave him an encouraging smile, and he went on. "It has always allowed me to make my thoughts and emotions concrete, and eventually, my art began to reflect other things that I loved. In this particular collection, I have been heavily influenced by myth-"

A bright chirping sound cut him off, and he fell silent as Pepper blushed and fumbled with her pants pocket. "I am so sorry," she whispered, glancing down at the little metal device, and silencing it. "It's not important. Go on, please."

His eyes slipped to the cards as he nodded. "I... I have been heavily influenced by-"

Another sound, a sharper set of beeps, interrupted him once more, and Pepper muttered something under her breath as he reached for her bag. "Can't believe this... I'm sorry, Livy, this must be an emergency or something..."

A slender spike of worry slid into Loki's chest as Pepper stood and began to speak into the other phone. Was something the matter with Stark? Another arrest, or something more ominous?

"...calm down..." Pepper was saying, pressing a hand to her other ear even though the room was silent. "Andrew, calm... I'm _telling_ you, he signed everything! No... no, Andr... don't yell at me, I didn't-" she was abruptly quiet, nodding along. The tendons in her neck stood out, and her face was slowly reddening again. "Andrew, he signed everything, and I gave everything to Sheila, so you should've... I don't _know_... What, now? I can't do it now, I'm with Livy... Olivia Roy, the artist from... We're going over her portion of the presentation, and I'm being rude enough as it is-" Another silence. The flush spread to her neck. "Yes. Yes, fine. I'll get it."

She hung up violently before turning with a low sound of frustration. "I'm sorry, Livy, just let me call Tony. There's an issue with some forms."

Loki moved out from behind the podium, watching as Pepper entered the numbers and lifted the phone to her ear. Any discontent at being ignored was dwarfed my his curiosity - something was obviously wrong, but if Pepper was permitted to contact Stark, then it couldn't be anything too dangerous.

"JARVIS, put me through. I don't _care_ what Tony said; this is a code six. Put me through."

There was a pause. She shifted in place impatiently, taking a few steps forward, then back. "Tony, hi. I need... the conference is _tomorrow_, I'll use whatever code I damn well please. Did you sign everything when I visited on Tuesday, or did... no, I'm not asking about your lines, I'm asking about the paperwork- hold on, did you just say _you'll get to it?_ The conference is tomorrow, Tony! _Tomorrow!_ Look, just get to it tonight, promise me you'll look at it... I don't _care_ what you're working on. Promise, otherwise I'll call Thor and get him to sit on you until you do it. Yes, even though it's fatal." (Loki smothered a smirk.) "But about the forms. You're _sure_ that you signed everything? ...Well, I don't know. Probably a mix-up at the Tower. Look, I'll just run by and get you to sign a new one, okay? Yes, now. Wait-" She turned sharply, casting an agonized look at Loki as she covered the phone with one hand. "I'm so sorry, Livy, I have to do this. I can... I can get a cab, and Happy can take you home."

"Oh." Loki folded the cards and summoned a layered countenance of understanding upon disappointment upon worry. "Of course."

Pepper didn't move for a moment, taking in Loki's manufactured facade before she offered, "If you want, you can come with me. It's only... seven-thirty. If we get to Stark Tower at a quarter till, then Stark mansion at eight, out by ten after... We would still be able to practice your part of the speech. I know it's important to you."

"That would really work? You would not be inconvenienced?" A relieved smile slid across his face at Pepper's quick nod. "Then yes."

Pepper put the phone back to her ear. "Tony? Yes, I'll be there around eight. Livy will be with me, so try to look... Livy. You know-" she glanced guiltily in Loki's direction and lowered her voice. "Olivia Roy, the artist? Come on, Tony, it was in the presentation summary... Well, just..." she lowered her voice even further, but Loki's ears were more than sharp enough to catch the words. "Try not to be too drunk if you're planning on- what? No, she won't come to your workshop if you don't want her to. Just be ready around eight, okay?"

She hung up, giving her full attention to Loki. "I'm so sorry about this," she rushed out. Her pad of paper was shoved into her briefcase, followed by a series of pens. "Things have been crazy at the Tower ever since... well, for a while. These forms should've been filed _weeks_ ago, and if we don't get them faxed before morning..."

"It's perfectly understandable," Loki assured her, making a note to look up what it meant to "fax" something. "Don't worry. We will get a chance to rehearse, and that is what matters, right?"

"I guess. I can't thank you enough for being so great about this." Pepper slung her bag over her shoulder and gripped her briefcase. "Are you ready to run?"

Loki plucked Livy's black leather purse from the podium and tucked the cards away. "Certainly."

* * *

Tony pinched one of the cubes between his thumb and forefinger, holding it up to the light. It grew ever-so-slightly paler at its outermost edges, glinting like an emerald. "You're a crafty sonofabitch, I'll give you that."

_Sorry, Sir?_

"Not you, JARVIS."

Tony set it down on the table and got onto his knees, putting himself at eye-level with the little enigma. It was identical in every way to the six others that he had studied. On top of that, nothing even remotely interesting had made itself known after the display of regenerative power a few days earlier. In fact, it was quickly becoming one of the most boring projects he had ever taken on.

Waiting for answers, Tony gazed at the cube until his vision started to go fuzzy. He settled back on his heels, letting out a gusty, frustrated breath and rubbing his eyes with the back of one hand. This was pointless.

_Whoosh_.

Tony blinked his eyes open again, only to lurch back with a panicked yelp. The cube was enveloped in flickering green flames as the sharp edges blurred and folded in on themselves.

A sizzling sound filtered through Tony's vaguely disbelieving mind, and he realized its source just in time to scramble away from the table.

The lump of emerald fire burned through the metal surface like it was paper, falling to the ground and starting to eat away at the floor panels. The edges of the hole in the table let off tendrils of bitter, lime-colored smoke.

"Shit," Tony breathed, leaning over gingerly to stare into the broadening patch of flames. At its core, the essence of the cube roiled and condensed even as he watched.

A whooping sound interrupted his ogling, and he glanced at the ceiling.

_Sir? The fire alarm has been set off._

"Oh, please. This barely counts as a _spark_. Override it." He scooted back warily as the flames expanded, licking at the tile that he occupied. "And. Um. Where's the extinguisher?"

A few minutes later, the fire had been smothered, but not before it had burned hole in the floor about two feet deep (and singed a hole in Tony's pants when he got too close). If he looked at the right angle, he could just barely make out a glint of green at the very bottom. Someone was knocking on the door, but that wasn't too important.

"Add spontaneous combustibility to the list of possible attributes," Tony called up to JARVIS. He eyed the others warily, but when none of them burst into flames, he amended his words. "Okay, maybe just combustibility. Had to have a cause, right?"

_That is indeed the likely answer, Sir._

"So, what was it?" Tony picked up one of the remaining eleven, thinking. "I was... down here." He knelt, taking care to mind the gap in the floor. "And I... covered my eyes." He put both hands over his face, holding his breath and waiting. After a few moments of silence, he peeled his fingers apart and peeped between them.

The cube was unimpressed.

"Well, that's not it."

_Sir, if I may interrupt, Agent Barton and Captain Rogers are requesting your presence._

"Busy, JARVIS. Is it about the fire? Tell them I've got it under control."

_And the reason for its ignition, Sir?_

"I don't know. Too much hot sauce on my waffles."

JARVIS was silent while Tony puzzled over the minute preceding the combustion, but after a moment, he responded._ Captain Rogers is unwilling to accept that explanation and has asked that you open the door._

"Tell the Captain that I'm working on some new designs. There are always kinks to be worked out."

Hoping that it as magically-induced, Tony focused his willpower on the cube, daring it to catch on fire. It wasn't until his temples started to throb that he gave up, letting his breath out in a huff. Maybe it was a fluke-

_Whoosh._

"Fuck!"

Tony jerked his face away from the fire, expecting heat, but none came. He moved a (tiny) bit closer, watching as the flames contorted and writhed like living things as they consumed the tabletop. If anything, they seemed... cold.

Above him, the alarm began to whoop again.

"Override it," he said to the ceiling. The sound halted, leaving him to his observations. "JARVIS, get a camera over here."

_Right away, Sir. Additionally, you should know that Agent Romanoff has joined Agent Barton and Captain Rogers in the hallway._

"I'll be worried when Thor shows up," he muttered, extending his hand to grip and guide the video camera that descended from the ceiling. The cube fell to the floor, and he zoomed in on the wriggling tongues of fire. "Add 'combustion triggered by breath' to the list."

_Right away, Sir._

Tony got down on the floor, angling the camera at the slowly growing dent in the panel. It was magic. Literally. Loki had said it had many uses, but this was unbelievable. Half of his brain was absent, devising a new weapon for the suit that incorporated projectile-cubes. The remaining half was torn between getting as much of this on camera as possible and thinking about why Loki would have given hims such a valuable resource.

Really, he should have been more focused on the fire.

"Ow, fuck,_ fuck!_" Tony whipped away from the smoldering pit, batting at the icy flames that were trying to burrow into his arm. Pain lit up his nerve endings, searing like liquid nitrogen. "_Fuck!_"

He grappled with the extinguisher, contorting his non-smoldering arm until the jet of white foam covered the green fire. Turning the nozzle towards the floor, he used every scrap of willpower that he possessed to keep himself from clawing at his forearm until the fire was out entirely.

The area felt numb, but at the core of that numbness was a slowly mounting agony that stretched and seethed under his skin. He got to his feet clumsily and made his way to the sink. "Warm water, JARVIS. Now."

_Cool water is better for burns, Sir._

"Just turn on the tap."

The long sleeves were coming back to haunt him; he gritted his teeth against a shout as he dragged the blackened fabric away from his forearm. There was a tearing, pulling sensation that made his gut clench, but then the fabric was free and his arm was exposed to the air.

He plunged it into the warm water, half-expecting steam or smoke to burst from his skin. The burn itself wasn't more than three inches long, but the patch of violent red flesh curled and twisted violently, like a brand or a tattoo. No blisters surfaced as he watched, but the surrounding skin was unnaturally pale. Was that good? Bad? First or second degree? Did degrees even count when it was magic? Maybe it was freezer burn.

_Sir, your teammates really are insisting._

"I'm a little busy, JARVIS." He thought about calling Loki. Sure, he would have to give something in return for a healing, but wouldn't that be worth it?

_Sir..._

"Not now, JARVIS. Tell them to get over it."

_Would you at least like me to inform them of your injury?_

"Oh, please. Even mad scientists get boo-boos sometimes."

The pain of the burn was a fraction less intense under the tapwater. Tony braced his other hand against the wall, taking a deep breath to steady himself. The surface of the gauntlet caught the light while the runes entrenched in the metal caught shadows. The fingers of his bad arm twitched slightly, ready to initiate a Juncture and trade, but he paused, thinking.

Loki hadn't been in touch since he had forgiven him, almost four days ago. None of the promised "clues" had shown up, though, so it wasn't like a Challenge was around the corner. The thought of seeing Loki made his slowing heart rate pick up again, and he winced as blood thrummed beneath the freezer burn.

But was it a good idea? Maybe Loki would refuse. Maybe Tony wasn't forgiven- maybe Loki was biding his time, hiding his anger, just like he said he did.

It seemed likely. Probable, even, but Tony couldn't quite make himself believe it. His eyes drifted to the gauntlet again, urged by the spiking pain of the burn. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to ask for his help just one more time-

_Sir? Ms. Potts is here. Shall I allow her entrance?_

He took a quick survey of the level of debris (twin craters in the floor, an abundance of fire extinguisher foam, the remaining ten cubes sitting in a neat little row opposite the chaos) and let out a disgruntled swear. Nothing too unusual, but even so; the less Pepper saw, the better.

"Tell her I'll be up in two minutes."

_She says-_

"Two minutes, JARVIS. No more, no less." The effect of the stern tone was dampened slightly by his pained groan as he turned off the tap. Without the relief of the water, the jagged bolts of ice threaded through his veins, numbing just before the agony followed. He blinked heavily, trying to clear away the black film that wavered in his peripheral vision. Had it been this bad before?

"JARVIS? Where'd we put the med kit?"

_By the cot, Sir._

"Wonderful." He lowered himself into his chair, cradling his arm, and rolled his way between potholes until he reached the little metal briefcase. (He would never admit to the unmanly shriek he released when he pressed a large dollop of antibiotic ointment onto the reddened skin.) "Shit, that_ stings._"

After he had wrapped the burn and pulled (the remainder of) the sleeve down to his satisfaction (at least the gauntlet was well-covered on his other arm), he headed upstairs. If everyone was gathered in the hallway like they said, it wouldn't be hard to find Pepper.

Once the door swung open, it seemed like a much worse idea.

Steve and Natasha waited outside, arms crossed. Steve's voice was the first one that Tony heard, pitched in that all-too-familiar cross between disgust and exasperation with a face to match. "What are you _doing_ down there?"

"If I had a nickel for every time I heard that," Tony muttered, easing past him and into the hallway.

Steve was right on his heels, and even though Tony couldn't see it, he knew the Look was still in place. "Tony, when you're doing dangerous experiments, you shouldn't be alone. What if something went wrong down there?"

"Then the alarm wouldn't be overridden, and you would have my permission to play Saint Bernard and drag my limp body out of the wreckage." He turned the corner and headed down the main hall to the kitchen, glancing at Steve over his shoulder. "Until then, stay topside. I can handle a little fire."

"You know what they say about playing with it," Natasha muttered, but Tony ignored her, hastening his steps.

"I get it- you're self-reliant, and I respect that, but we're a _team_. You need to trust us sometimes, not just shut us out." Steve let out a hassled breath. "Would you just _talk_ to me, just for two seconds-?" He reached out, his fingers closing sharply around Tony's forearm-

Pain surged from fingertips to elbow in a knifing, icy tide, and Tony tore away with a strangled yell. Clutching his arm to his chest, he stumbled into the kitchen and caught himself against the island, practically winded. In the doorway, Steve's face was pale and shocked. Pepper stood by the elevator, wide-eyed.

"...Tony...?"

"I-" He swallowed, letting his arm fall even though Steve's grip had rekindled the embers to a full blaze. Sweat was already beading on his forehead, and he leaned heavily against the counter. "I'm... It's nothing."

Steve's mouth worked, but before he could speak, a pair of figures appeared beside him in the doorway. Clint's hand was on his bow, his face concerned and wary. Tony expected Natasha's cool impassivity to be beside him, but a stranger stood in her place.

"What's going on?" Her voice carried a light accent. Eyes like backlit leaves gazed at him with unnerving calm, seeming huge in the pale, angular face. Dark, straight hair fell over her shoulders in glossy strands. The coloration made his heart kick into overdrive for a chaotic moment, but he disregarded the instinct, forcing himself to be rational amid the pain. Loki wouldn't be that bold.

"Livy!" Pepper took a step forward but paused, torn between Tony and the newcomer. "T- Mr. Stark isn't feeling too well. We'll have to wait until tomorrow for a proper introduction. Mr. Barton, could you show her out?"

"Sure." Clint cast Tony a worried look before heading back into the front hall, leaving him alone with Pepper and Steve.

* * *

"I'm not sure what that was about," the archer was saying as he guided Loki towards the entryway. "Tony's a great guy, you know. He must've gotten hurt or something."

"Mm-hm." Loki was barely listening as he recalled Stark's face. His palor had looked... ill. Unnaturally pale beneath his tan and lacking his usual gusto. Something had gone wrong.

"I'm sure he'll be better in time for tomorrow," Barton blathered on. The more he talked, the more Loki was tempted to transform him into something tiny and insignificant.

"Yes, in time for tomorrow." Loki smiled a little, determined to maintain this role. "Will you be attending?"

"Nah, I'm visiting a hospital. Raising morale, you know?"

"How kind of you." Loki wondered if Pepper was finished with the paperwork yet. The sooner he left, the sooner he could explore Stark's ailment on his own.

* * *

Tony wrestled blankets form his closet, piling them on his bed in haphazard heaps before crawling underneath. His entire arm felt frostbitten. The gauze was coming loose, and every time he moved, he caught a glimpse of the skin underneath. The burn itself was an ugly shade of red.

He'd managed to get away after signing Pepper's papers and ignoring the persistent questions from both her and Steve, citing an armor-related injury for the reaction to being grabbed. When the Captain persevered, Tony claimed that he needed a full night's sleep before the big presentation and ducked into the elevator before Steve could argue further. Still, Tony wouldn't put it past him to knock on his door after a little bit in hopes that he had changed his mind about being vague and evasive.

"Are you trying to get me to freeze to death, JARVIS?" Tony grumbled, burrowing deeper under the covers.

_It was not my intention, Sir._

"Just bump it up a couple degrees, please. And get the lights while you're at it."

He curled up on his side as the room darkened, trying to ignore the ache that was slowly spreading through his veins. Forgiven or not, he couldn't call Loki like this. The god might just tear him apart.

Pain medication sang an enticing tune from the bathroom, but his head was getting fuzzy, and it seemed like a very long, very cold journey.

Better to just stay put.

* * *

_Loki lingered just out of reach. The slim silhouette stood at a hilltop, lashed by rain and sleet. Tony was frozen in place, his mind stalling and his legs still. His mouth was open in a soundless scream- maybe a summons, maybe a warning, maybe a plea. Lightning shredded the sky._

_Shadows undulated in the corners of his vision, the rain dampening their whispers into a mantra of senseless hissing. He tried to reach out, reach for Loki, but his arms were numb and leadened. The next spear of lightning stuck the hill, spreading green, icy fire that lapped at Tony's legs, torso, face-_

* * *

"Stark."

A warm hand was pressed against his forehead as his eyelids unstuck themselves. Not that there was anything to see- the arc reactor's glow was muffled by the blankets that tangled around his legs and chest. A thick fog muddled his mind, and he closed his eyes again, trying to sink back into sleep.

"Stark."

He grumbled to himself, turning to press against the hand. It felt soothing against his face, like a cool washcloth on fevered skin.

A sigh washed over him. "You are an absolute fool."

The words were familiar. The voice, too. But the tone was unusually soft.

The hand vanished. Tony turned over in protest, but it didn't return. Prying his eyes open, he could barely make out a figure leaning over the bed.

Consciousness returned in a jarring moment, and he tried to sit up. A hand pressed against his chest, two of the fingers grazing his chest above the collar of his shirt.

"Loki-?"

"Stay still. You have somehow managed to poison yourself."

The arc reactor shone more prominently as the covers shifted, hinting at cheekbones and eyes in the darkness.

The hand on his chest migrated to his forehead again, resting there as if they were taking his temperature. It was warm, only... Loki's hands were always cool.

Tony closed his eyes for a moment, trying to form a coherent thought. "I didn't call you."

"No."

"But you're here."

"Yes." Loki removed his hand before placing it on his arm. His fingers seemed to scorch the skin, but they tightened like a noose when Tony tried to pull away. "You have been exploring my gift."

"You told me to." Tony gritted his teeth- the burn was reawakening.

"You have been exploring _recklessly_," Loki amended. His brows, two dark smudges on his ghostly face, drew together as he examined the skin.

"You don't know that," Tony muttered. He felt dizzy from pain and proximity.

"Don't I?" Loki tugged at Tony's hand, lifting the damaged arm to examine it more thoroughly. A fingertip grazed the burn, and nausea welled up in the back of Tony's throat. "You have encountered Frost Fire without exercising proper precaution. I would deem that reckless."

"How did you even know? I didn't call you."

"So you've said."

"But how did you _know?_"

Loki let out a sigh. "Some things are better left unexplained, Stark. If you value your limb, I encourage you to be silent and let me work."

Tony acquiesced (for the time being), resigning himself to watching Loki as his fingers glided over the patch of scalded flesh. It took a more-than-decent amount of willpower to remain still.

Being silent was another matter.

"What's Frost Fire?"

"I thought it would be rather redundant to explain."

"Well, kinda, but how does it work? Is all fire cold on Asgard?"

Loki let out another sigh, this one heavier than the last. "No. Frost Fire is a name for a... _phenomenon_ rather than a substance. You were not marked by fire tonight; rather, the fire served as a carrier for a poisonous curse that has latched onto you. It was fortunate that you were able to stifle it before it could spread, otherwise you would likely be within death's clutches."

"And you didn't think that I would need to know that?" Tony was torn between interest and outrage. "What if I'd been holding it when it went off?"

"Then you would have received a set of impressive new scars for your trouble. As for a warning, I did not anticipate that you had uncovered the regenerative properties of my gift. I assumed that you would use the cube for the charm, and the charm alone. Now be quiet."

Tony frowned, but Loki either couldn't or didn't see him. He seemed engrossed in his examination... but that thought raised a new question altogether.

Just to be polite, Tony counted to ten before asking.

"How can you see?"

Loki didn't falter. "Were my eyes as weak as yours, I would still be able to recognize the curse in your wound and your blood. It is a matter of _sensing_, not observing. Now, hush."

"Can you fix it?"

"Of course. But it will take energy, lots of energy, and it will not be pleasant for either of us."

"Hm." Tony could just make out Loki's eyes in the darkness, gleaming as they took in every detail. His fingers blazed as they traced the outline of the burn, drawing intricate patterns on the skin.

A moment passed, and then:

"Why are you doing this?"

The words simply appeared, unbidden. Loki didn't look at him, but his fingers paused. "A bit of specificity would be appreciated, Stark."

"This. Healing."

"I vowed to play fairly."

"But we aren't _playing_." Tony propped himself up on his good elbow. The glow from the reactor made the bones of Loki's face look even sharper than usual. "I didn't call you-"

"I tire of that mantra."

"-so you have no reason to be here unless you want to be."

Loki was still. "You would have me leave?"

"No-"

"Then why do you badger me?" His grip was just a bit too firm on Tony's arm. "You are at enough of a disadvantage in playing against me. Why do you question this?"

"Because..." Tony struggled to focus amid the fuzz of aches and darkness. "I want to understand."

"Understand what? The Game?"

"I don't _care_ about the Game," Tony snapped. "I want to understand _you_. Why you came here on your own to do this for me."

"Oh, yes." Loki's voice took on an odd, half-mocking tone. "I forgot. You _care_-"

"Don't," Tony snapped, "Don't try to-"

Loki's hand clenched sharply, and a sudden blaze of green assaulted Tony's eyes. Then came the worming, prickling agony of the healing. Tony doubled over, gasping for breath as heat flooded his forearm, his head, his chest. He was dimly aware that Loki was moving his arm, pulling it. There was a half-second when the pain abated before skin pressed against the very center of the burn, and his vision whited out. His thoughts were jumbled, twisted streams of swears, prayers, and pleas as the fire, _real_ fire, tore through his veins and left ashes behind. Maybe some of the words spilled out, because one of Loki's hands was covering his mouth while the other encased his wrist like iron, holding him steady. His breathing came in ragged pants, and his heart was galloping.

Then it began to fade.

Tony sagged forward, resting his forehead on Loki's shoulder as he took in huge gulps of air that smelled like leather and sweat and mint and smoke. A strand of Loki's hair brushed against his forehead.

"That-" he whispered hoarsely, "That was downright unkind."

Loki didn't respond immediately. His breathing was quick and just a bit unsteady, gusting against Tony's forearm. He realized with a shock that Loki's lips were pressed against the former burn, which tingled in an odd, not-quite-unpleasant way. As if sensing Tony's attention, he lowered the limb onto the bed (Tony's fingers brushed leather on accident). One hand was still curled around his wrist. "If that was the extent of your injuries, Stark, I believe I will be going."

He shifted and began to pull away, but Tony grabbed his elbow, keeping him in place.

"You didn't answer my question."

Loki paused. The full light of the arc reactor illuminated his armor and throat but left his face in shadow. For a moment, Tony thought he would just leave, and his hand tensed inadvertently on his arm. The metal was cool to the touch.

But then he spoke. "And what question might that be?"

Tony lifted his head, only to freeze when he found Loki's face turned towards him. Mere inches of air hovered between. The silence of the room was overwhelming, but the rush of blood was loud in his ears. The darkness felt like a presence, urging him. "W-why are you... doing this?" The words barely even existed, only carrying to Loki's ears because of their proximity.

Loki's breath was cool on his face, and he witheld a shiver. "Why must you demand these answers?"

"Just... tell me," Tony whispered. He wasn't sure why they were still talking. Talking wasn't important, not when the inches between them were slowly being whittled down, and Loki's eyes were gleaming in the dark, and he _might_ be getting closer, too. The silence roared. Loki's fingers tightened on his wrist.

Their noses brushed, ever-so-gently, and Tony pressed closer-

Loki wrenched out of his grip and was gone, leaving Tony alone in the dark.

* * *

**I know, I'm awful. But it gets better, I _swear!_**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep.**


	29. Interlude

**Terrible. I'm terrible, and I know, and I'm sorry. The compound pressure of expectations and work really psyched me out.**

**This is an interlude that didn't quite fit in with the next chapter, ao I thought I would separate it and give it to you guys early. There _is _another (enormous) chapter on the horizon that should be here within the weekend, so don't complain about the length of this. Besides, it's content that matters... *winks***

**Disclaimer: Not mine**

**Warnings: Nothing unusual.**

* * *

Alone, Loki stared into the dark. It wasn't a whole darkness, though; Midgardian lights seeped in from beneath the curtains, rupturing the blackness.

It wasn't like the near-perfect veil that had cloaked Stark's bedroom.

He let out a heavy breath, stirring the otherwise still air. He could feel his pulse in his head, drowning his rational thoughts in a dizzying rush of half-formed conclusions and queries. From the drain of magic, he told himself sternly. But that idea was more worrisome than the alternative, and he let out an oath before turning and making his way towards the bedroom. He needed rest. Rest and time to think, time to plan, time to account for… this.

But instead of entering the bedroom, Loki pushed open a different door. He regretted it immediately but didn't return to the hall. Instead, he lit the candles with a wave and moved deeper into the chamber.

The room was mammoth-like in size, lit by a sea of candles and furnished only by a bowl the size of a bathtub in its very center. The surface of the gargantuan walls was pure white and smooth, like marble doves. Or, rather, two of them were. A third was scarred with black ink, bleeding trails of it onto the floors. Trails of words. The sentences swarmed like ants, marring and mutilating the would-be blank expanse. Looking closely, one would realize that a few of the bruise-like smears were not mistakes, but minute pictures that almost breathed on the walls. When compared to the chaos, the two untouched sections seemed to shiver in the candlelight, fully aware of what was about to happen.

The fourth wall was entirely black.

Loki approached the vat with sure steps. Each one was a lie, if only for his own benefit (there was nothing sure about resorting to this, nothing at all). Rationality demanded that he sleep, or else continue to plan for the Challenge to come. However, for once, the sheer weight of the emotion in his chest refused to be smothered.

His footsteps made no sound as he moved to stand by the tub of ink. In the candlelight, the runes carved into the sides almost undulated. A smaller bowl bobbed within like some foolhardy boat on black, deathlike waves. It was cool and delicate beneath his fingers, as though it was trying to convince him that it was something other than old bone.

Loki dipped the bowl into the ink, watching as the thick liquid crept up the sides. Withdrawing, he took three quick steps and flung the contents onto one of the pale, waiting walls.

There was a moment of stillness. The black and the white seemed to contemplate one another, remaining rigid. Even Loki's breathing paused.

Then the ink condensed into a single block of onyx before him, trembling slightly with the anticipation.

Loki stepped forward, lifting one hand and pressing it into the liquid. It gave under his fingers, soft in an alive sort of way as it evaluated him. Before his eyes, droplets began to roll away from the outer edges, writhing and colliding.

He moved back, watching. In the center, his handprint remained, surrounded by tendrils of thoughts and phrases.

Words rose like welts on the canvas, arranging and rearranging themselves into whipping, cohesive trails before scattering and spreading out on the vast emptiness. A picture blossomed in one corner - a minute cube which sprouted tongues of dancing fire. Making way for the illustration, a cluster of words took flight like startled birds, distancing themselves before rejoining one another closer to the ceiling. Larger swaths of sentences melted together to form paragraphs before collapsing into images that rippled and meandered across the expanse.

Loki touched a fingertip to the wall, and it froze.

His gaze swept from floor to ceiling, taking it all in. The spell mimicked his mind, reaching in and drawing out what he felt, what he had seen, what mantras haunted him most prominently. It was of his own invention - one of his proudest.

Some thoughts were larger, more pressing, and their size was proportional. Others were minute details that wavered hesitantly at the fringes of the painting. Small pictures hovered here and there: a raven, a sharp pair of glasses, a cube, a charm, a Book, an untapped patch of darkness. In the very center, Stark's face stared out at the air above Loki's head. His expression held something desperate, something unknowable.

The words ringed his fingertip like halos, growing and spreading and repeating. Some strands formed cohesive chains, while others were mere broken links.

Steeling himself, Loki began to read.

**_Trick, trick, tricking me, he is, must be, why else, how else could it have happened? A worthy opponent, I mused, and how true it is. He's tricking me, tricking me..._**

**_Frost Fire. Burn. Poison. Imbecile. More power than usual. More effort. Lips are better than hands when it comes to poison, more direct, heals more quickly. Imbecile. Burned. Branded. Burned._**

**_Cares, he cares, do I care? He cares, he said he cares, he said, "I care," he cares, he said so, but why? He cares..._**

**_Not strong enough. Crippled. Broken. Torn. Beaten. Biding my time until it finds me again, the Beast, the Beast is searching. I can still hear it screaming, deep in the black, searching, screaming..._**

**_Amora. How does she know? How does she...?_**

**_Why else? Why else? Tricking me, he knows, he is tricking me, scenting for weakness, trying to break me, but oh, too late, far too late. Broken already, Stark, you are too late..._**

**_The Game endures, takes precedence. A means to fix... what?_**

**_Brother, my brother, not our blood, mine and his and Odin's, but not ours. Never ours. Oh, what _lies_ you told, and you call me a liar, you dare to call me a liar. Not my father, not my brother, not my blood..._**

**_"Tell me," he begged, he demanded. He desires answers, answers, always answers, but I will give him lies. Answers are precious, but there are always counterfeits that can be offered in their stead..._**

**_I hear it, I hear it screaming when I sleep, when I breathe..._**

**_Don the mask, become the pretender. The liar. The trickster. No one looks for the secretive, hidden being beneath. No one knows, no one notices, no one cares._**

**_He cares. Stark cares._**

**_Bleeding without blood, too much, too little. No scars, why are there no scars? There must be, within, there must be. Torn, I am torn, I am scarred..._**

**_Pepper. Too kind to so strange a stranger, too kind._**

**_We see in the darkness. We see. Nothing undisclosed, nothing hidden in the dark because everything is hidden and open and revealed and buried and..._**

**_Monster. Ice prince. Never a king, never meant to be king. Lies, oh, the lies, how could they lie, how dare they? Monstrous, I am monstrous..._**

**_Stark. Tony. Why does he care? No one cares. Lies, tricks, trickery, trickster..._**

**_Broken, broken, broken..._**

**_Amora, she hunts..._**

**_The Beast, it nears..._**

**_Cannot flee them both. What if she succeeds? _****_What if I don't?_**

**_Monster. My monstrous blood. Broken monster, torn asunder. Dying. Is this dying? Am I? Can I?_**

**_Stark. He cares. For what, he cannot comprehend... I cannot comprehend..._**

**_Beast..._**

**_Monster..._**

**_Amora..._**

**_Stark..._**

**_I care._**

**_I care._**

**_I care._**

**_Dare I? _****_A kiss, simply a kiss, a simple kiss, what harm could it do, a single, simple kiss? Dare I?_**

**_No. A trick. He tricks, he cares, _I _care._**

**_The Beast._**

**_We care._**

**_Amora._**

**_Stark._**

**_Broken._**

**_Stark._**

**We _care_.**

**_No_.**

Loki tore himself away from the wall. Above him, Stark stared down with unseeing eyes.

"I don't-" His voice came out in a reedy, unsettled pitch, and he quickly closed his mouth. The words remained stationary, ignorant of his horror.

"I don't," he breathed out, turning away. The candles had burned to the floor, and light was becoming scarce.

He could feel Stark's gaze above his head, feel the judgement settling on his shoulders like still-warm ash.

"I cannot."

* * *

**I'll see you all very soon, dears. I can't thank you enough for your support over the past few weeks- or months, for that matter. You are all wonderful.**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep.**

**P.S.: Everything that seems out of place or confusing will be explained as the story goes on. Trust me. ;)**


	30. Chapter 30

**Wow, okay. This chapter is enormous. Ludicrously so. Ridiculously so. Even comically so. It's a comically large chapter. **

**I kept accidentally switching to present tense for no apparent reason (other than the fact that I'm sleep-deprived), and even though I _think_ I caught all of the errors, please let me know if you notice any that I missed.**

**I won't rant (much), but let me thank you all for your reviews from the last chapter. I wasn't quite sure how it would be received, so I'm really glad you guys enjoyed it!**

**Also, PashaPup created more awesome art! The links are on my profile, so go bask in their glory!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Warnings: Nothing too bad.**

**Onward!**

* * *

Tony stared at the ceiling, playing and re-playing the encounter in his head. The first few minutes of conversation were fuzzy, but they didn't matter. Loki had been so... _close_. So utterly attainable. Tony closed his eyes, remembering fingers on his wrist and breath on his lips and metal beneath his fingers. What had gone wrong?

The gauntlet's weight was a dare, imploring him to reach out and get the answers. It wasn't in his nature to sit idly by and hope that what he wanted would appear before him (in this case, literally).

But then the doubts entered the picture, reciting their refrain of hesitation and powerlessness and the possibility of misinterpretation or pain. Even if Loki wasn't contemplating the many different ways to skin him alive, there was no reason for him to expect anything... _romantic_.

But wasn't there? Wasn't there _something_ from the last couple of weeks that meant anything to Loki other than an alternative to boredom?

Memories rose in his mind's eye- a smile, a look, a hand on his forehead.

No. This wasn't an imagined attraction.

He let out a sigh, oddly loud in the stillness of his room. Fingers twitched towards the gauntlet...

But what if it was better if it never happened? Engaging in the Game had been a necessity, but this? What did he think would happen- he and Loki would fall madly in love and they would both forget the deaths that smeared Loki's past? The lives that he ruined?

Better to end it before it had a chance to begin.

Loki's face resurfaced behind Tony's eyelids, and his gut clenched. Unless, of course, it had already begun.

_Sir? _

Tony opened his eyes, but the dark didn't do much to revive him. "I'm awake."

_Very good. Ms. Potts is requesting entrance._

"What for?" Tony grumbled, turning over on his side. He didn't want to talk to Pepper; if he was going to get out of bed at all, he was going to go down to his workshop and design something new for the suit. That usually cleared his head.

_She intends to "prep you for the conference."_

The conference. Tony buried his face in his pillow and, for a moment, contemplated the pros and cons of suffocation. "Let her in."

_Sorry?_

Tony lifted his head. "Let her in."

The door unlocked with a soft set of clicks, and light flooded the room. Tony ducked beneath the covers, growling a lengthy stream of swearwords.

"Don't blame me. You should have been up at _least _an hour ago. It's not like you didn't know about- _Tony!_" Pepper gaped at him, horrified, as he let the covers slip down to his chin. "What _happened?_"

"When?"

Pepper hurried over, bending over to examine him. "You look awful!"

"Thanks," he muttered, shooing her aside so he could swing his legs over the side of the bed and stand. The rush of dizziness caught him off guard, and he blinked a haze of little dots out of his gaze. "It was a long night."

Her eyebrows furrowed, and she took a step forward. "You went upstairs at eight-thirty."

"And it's what, nine?"

"Ten."

"See?" He moved past her to get to the bathroom. "Long night." His jaw clenched when he saw himself in the mirror; legitimate smudges of purple lined his eyes, and his skin had a vaguely grey undertone.

Pepper followed him, standing in the doorway with a wearily frustrated look on her face. "You aren't even going to _try_ to explain?"

"Drop it, Pepper."

"I just don't get it. You know how important today is, and you still did God-knows-what instead of getting a decent night's sleep. You have the worst priorities I've ever-"

"Don't talk to me about _priorities_," Tony snapped. "Mine might seem fucked-up to you, but there is a reason for everything I do. I have responsibilities that you couldn't understand if you tried, so don't you _dare_ lecture me."

Silence.

The outburst hung in the air even as the rush of defensiveness faded, and he turned to assess the damage. Pepper's expression was one of tight control, but he could still make out the anger and hurt underneath.

Guilt spilled into the melting pot of emotions bubbling in his chest, and he turned to brace himself against the counter. "I'm sorry, Pepper. It was-"

"A long night." He heard her take a step forward. "I heard." There was a pause before she spoke again. "You know you can talk to me if you need someone, right? I'm still here for you."

He glanced up, looking for insincerity and finding none. But he really should've known that- Pepper was never one for talking or listening if she didn't genuinely want to help. He swallowed, and his gaze flicked up to the mirror. His reflection appeared to be just as lost as he felt.

"It's…" The word surprised him as he said it, as though it had simply appeared on his lips without being summoned, and he took a moment to mull over the sentence to follow. "It's kind of like…. Did you ever do something really, really stupid because you thought it would be better in the long run?"

"If it's better in the long run, it might not be as stupid as you think."

"Oh, it's stupid," Tony let out a laugh that was bitterer than he had anticipated. "At least, how I treated it was stupid. But, you know, after you make the choice, you're committed, and then you realize that you've totally fucked up, but you can't talk about it or change anything, and everything you say or do afterwards is wrong, and every decision is wrong, and then _feelings_ get involved, and you start getting hurt all the time, and every third word that comes out of your mouth is a lie, and no one trusts you, but dammit, I did it for _them._" He faltered, grip tightening on the counter. "_You_ did it for them. That's what I meant."

"Of course." Pepper wore her Calming Face, the one reserved for people who were on the verge of tears or violence or both.

"Yeah." Tony blinked at himself in the mirror. "You did this for them."

Pepper was quiet, but he could feel her questions bubbling beneath her skin, each one threatening to burst. He waited.

"Tony… I have to ask," She paused, as though she expected him to stop her, but at his continued silence, she went on. "When Fury put you under house arrest, he didn't tell me why, and I didn't push him to explain. I figured he wouldn't answer any of them even if I did. Now you're out again, like nothing happened." Another inviting pause. Tony accepted this one, though he didn't look up at her.

"So you're asking me?" It was simultaneously an easier and more dificult quesion to answer than that which he had anticipated.

He caught the nod out of the corner of his eye.

It was tempting. The taboo of telling someone had nagged at him ever since he had agreed to the Game in the first place. Confiding in Thor was one thing, but Pepper... he trusted Pepper more than he trusted himself, even after everything that they had been through. He swallowed, mulling over the words in his head. It would be a confession, plain and simple, without quips or puns to ease the way. The trouble was that it would be difficult to stop himself once he got started.

He let out a heavy breath. "I-"

_Pardon the interruption, Sir, but the workshop area has reached a temperature of negative seven degrees Celsius and dropping._

Tony's head snapped up. "The workshop-?"

Pepper's confused question fell on deaf ears as Tony pushed past her and broke into a sprint. Every rational thought had fled with the realization that the Book was cold. Loki had written in the book. Loki had reached out.

The elevator moved like molasses while he tapped his feet impatiently, mentally begging it to hurry up as it verified his fingerprints.

His breath escaped him in a palpable, white burst as he exploded into the lab, dodging the craters in the floor in a mad dash for the table where the book sat. His heart thrummed like a hyperactive bass, echoing in his ears even as hope made his hands clumsy. He reached the correspondence page, and-

Blank.

Tony stared for an uncomprehending moment. Blank. Totally, completely blank. Tabula-rasa-blank.

"That... that can't be..."

His fingers, unbidden, found the edges of the paper and turned past the correspondence, past the drawing of the conference, past the zoo, to a fresh page.

_Stop me,_ the intricate script read. Above it, in faint, curly letters, were the words, _The Third Challenge._

Tony's heart dropped through the floor.

Dimly, JARVIS's words filtered through the ceiling. _Sir? Miss Potts is requesting entrance._

"Yes, fine," Tony murmured numbly, still staring at the page. The third Challenge. But that was impossible, wasn't it? Loki had promised clues, and there had been none. It was a mistake. It had to be.

He read over the words again – _Stop me_ – and a chill raised the hair on the back of his neck. The inside of his head was a mushy combination of confusion, alarm, and shock.

A new Challenge, as though last night hadn't happened. It had, hadn't it?

He glanced at his arm to be sure, brushing aside fragments of charred sleeve to see the burn. In place of the raw, angry skin was a pearly-white patch of scar tissue. He swallowed, torn between the conflicting realities of the past and present.

"Oh, my God."

Tony looked up, blinking twice to be sure that his tired eyes weren't lying, and stared at Pepper. "How did you get in?"

Her eyes were locked on the gaping holes in the floor. "Oh, God, what've you-"

He repeated the question, louder this time, and she tore her gaze away to frown at him. "You let me in."

"No, I didn't." A fresh bolt of fear threaded its way down his spine. "You can't be here. You can't see this."

"What? Tony-"

He clutched the book to his chest, rooted in place. "Pepper, this is important. I need to take care of this before the conference."

Tony saw it just before she said it; her mouth went tight and her chin tilted up, just a little, as her eyes narrowed.

"No."

"Pepper-"

"I said _no_, Tony." She took a step forward, ignoring his corresponding retreat. "I don't know what you're doing, but it can't be good. So you're either going to come with me and let me get you ready for the conference, or you're going to sit down and tell me why you can't." Her arms folded across her body, knitting together in a physical manifestation of her rigid mindset.

Tony's gut clenched. Pepper was serious, deadly serious, but he needed to figure out what he needed to "stop," and that kind of thing always took longer than he thought it would. "Okay, look. I'll tell you. I'll explain as much as I can about everything. I'll make puppets and act it out for you, funny voices included. But right now, I need to work on this. Lives could be in danger."

Pepper pinned him with a suspicious glare, but he held firm. After a moment, she nodded brusquely. "Fine." She checked her watch. "It's ten twenty-four right now. We need to be at the conference at twelve. If you haven't left to save New York in an hour, I'll be down to get you."

Tony opened his mouth to protest, but snapped it closed again at the second glare that Pepper sent him. She'd been practicing. "Fine."

"Fine." She turned towards the stairs, but paused. "Good luck."

He tried to muster a grin as she turned and left, but he was fairly sure it looked as weak as it felt.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Tony opened the book to the page of the third Challenge, flipping forward in search of an accompanying picture. One presented itself almost immediately.

Tony groaned. "What is it with you and press conferences?"

Nobody answered, and he eased himself onto one of his workbenches to sit and study the illustration. It wasn't nearly as sprawling and wild as the zoo, or even as big as the first drawing. It contained a single room done in heavy whites and golds, and was filled with people who sat around delicately set tables. Each person was in some state of fancy dress; pearls and diamonds peeped out from under necklines and shirtsleeves here and there, and no man was without a suit. Tony located himself at the podium, one hand raised in the middle of a generic gesture.

"Guess I'd better find you, huh?" He settled in, propping his up his aching head. He tried to ignore the uneasy wonderings that skulked in the back of his mind, tried to squash the desire to dig and understand why this was happening. He closed his eyes, pressing his thumbs against the lids as though he could expunge the memories that way. "I need help."

_Help with what, Sir?_

Tony sighed, dropping his hands. "Nothing, JARVIS."

* * *

"My confusion is not yet allayed," Thor spoke again as the S.H.I.E.L.D. SUV pulled up to the front of the children's hospital. "We are here to... speak to your ailing youths?"

"They aren't _my _ailing youths," Clint muttered, tugging at his quiver, "and it's a publicity thing. Like kissing babies and cutting ribbons. Plus, y'know, it's a nice thing to do. Are my arrows straight?"

Thor nodded an affirmative, still looking skeptical. "And this 'publicity thing' is a Midgardian tradition?"

"Think 'custom' instead of 'tradition'. Hurry up, or we'll be late."

Thor fell silent for a moment as Clint slipped out of the van, still fiddling with his gear. The glass doors swung open to admit them, and they stepped into a tall, linoleum-plated entryway. Someone had made an effort to put some color into the blank expanse - flowers adorned the receptionist's desk and a series of alarming splatter-paintings lined the halls - but somehow, the white of the hospital prevailed.

The receptionist's eyes went wide behind her orange glasses as she saw the newcomers approaching. "Um," She blinked. "Um. Are you here for- I mean, how can I help-?"

"I've got them, Pamela." A woman with curves and a mass of curly black hair stepped in from one of the adjacent halls, her purple pantsuit making the whole room seem especially bleak in comparison. She beamed, glancing between Clint and Thor. "You're right on time. Come right this way, and I'll fill you in on your schedule."

He hurried forward and accepted the hand she offered, surprised at the strength of her grip.

"I'm Janet, Janet Delaney. We spoke on the phone." Her brown eyes sparkled. "It's wonderful to meet you in person, Hawkeye."

"Nice to meet you, too," Clint responded, giving her a subtle once-over. She certainly didn't _look _like someone who enjoyed threatening people over the phone.

Thor hovered a few feet away, frowning at their guide. He didn't offer his hand, and after a brief pause, Janet beckoned for them to follow her. Clint sent him a quizzical look, but it went unnoticed.

"We've got a few basic rules," Janet began, leading down a well-lit hallway towards the elevators, "but nothing you wouldn't expect. No inappropriate language or topics - I won't ban any battle stories, because I know you've got some good ones, but use your judgment. Nothing too graphic. Try to answer as many questions as possible, but if you start to feel overwhelmed, feel free to pause for a bit." They stepped into a waiting elevator, and she tapped the _5 _until it lit up. "You'll definitely get a whole lot of questions about your weapons, but please, don't take them out. I see that you don't have your hammer, which simplifies that," she addressed Thor before leaning over to eye Clint's quiver, "but do those have arrowheads?"

"Nah. Didn't think I'd make a very good impression if someone got shot," He pulled out an arrow and showed her the blunt end. "I thought the kids could pass one around, you know?"

Janet accepted it, turning it over in her hands and pursing her lips. "Very thoughtful of you. However, we've got some real troublemakers upstairs, and I wouldn't want anyone to get hurt. Someone could get poked in the eye, or smacked. And if they start squabbling over it," her voice deepened, hinting at an accent as the words rolled from her tongue. "I will have to put an _end _to that."

A trickle of unease worked its way down the back of his neck, and as he met the woman's intense stare. On her other side, Thor had gone rigid. "Clint, I do not think-"

Black curls flared as Janet whirled around, arrow raised. Thor's roar was deafening.

Clint instinctively went for his bow, but she spun again to crack the aluminum shaft against his head, sending a haze through his eyes for a dizzying moment. His vision cleared in time to see her block Thor's assault, grab his tree-trunk wrist with hands like butterflies and _twist _with cruel efficiency. The crack of bone was drowned out by another of Thor's bellows.

He slung his bow off of his shoulder and swung, but the blow only grazed her shoulder as she dodged, hands still clasped around Thor's forearm. A high-heeled boot sent the bow skittering out of Clint's hand and into the opposite corner. He lashed out with his fists, but she ducked easily, returning with a kick to his jaw that sent him back against the wall of the elevator. Then something small and sharp dug into his throat, and a chilly numbness wriggled into his veins.

Janet's grin was shark-like, vicious, and the realization struck with more force than any number of blows.

_Loki._

Clint's left leg buckled beneath him, and he went down on one knee, fumbling for the radio in his belt. His fingers felt clumsy, swollen. Above him, Thor had an arm around Loki's throat, but the grip on his wrist was taking its toll. One blue eye was already swollen shut.

"Brother..." he rumbled, but Loki threw back his head, silencing him as his skull collided with Thor's jaw.

Desperate shudders rolled down Clint's spine, but he slumped against the wall, boneless, before he could do a thing. The radio slipped from his fingers as Thor hit the floor beside him, shaking the whole elevator. He couldn't even blink as he stared upwards and watched Not-Janet brush a wrinkle out of his skirt with remarkable nonchalance.

"All that being said, Agent Barton," he said quietly, "I believe we may begin. Right this way."

Loki reached down, flashing a deceptively pleasant smile as he gripped Clint's limp hand. Every effort he made to wrench away had a nonexistent effect.

Then blackness.

* * *

Loki was nowhere to be found.

Tony scrubbed his stinging eyes with the heels of his hands, letting out a disgruntled groan as he finished sweeping the picture for the umpteenth time. There was no sign of him, absolutely none.

And Pepper was calling him. (Rather rudely.)

He stood, grabbing the pen as he went and tucking the Book beneath his arm. All attempts to write to Loki had been in vain, but he wasn't abandoning the possibility. If Loki contacted him again, he would be ready.

* * *

Steve fingered his tie uncomfortably as the SUV pulled up to the community center. The invitation hadn't specified what sort of thing he should wear, and he had eventually chosen a suit over his uniform. It didn't fit as well as he remembered- a bit snug in the shoulders and chest – and Steve found himself pulling at the fabric at several points during the ride.

His palms were clammy as he stepped out of the car and onto the sidewalk. It was a relief to see Timothy at the door, beaming just as he had in the bar a few nights ago. "Wonderful to see you, Captain," the old man said, extending his hand for a firm shake. "So glad you could make it."

"It's my pleasure," Steve responded as he followed Timothy into the building. The numerous bulletin boards were dripping with banners and children's drawings, giving the halls a certain likeness to some of the kindergarten classrooms that he had visited. "A lot of kids come here?"

"Hm? Oh, yes. Lots." Timothy nodded a few times. "It's a verysensitive community."

"That's good," Steve spotted a picture of what was either the Hulk or a massive piece of broccoli and hid a small smile. "In my day, this wasn't the best neighborhood. I'm glad they've turned it around."

Timothy glanced over and offered him a knowing look. "A lot's changed, eh?"

There was that feeling, right in the middle of his chest. Like a black hole had opened up and was trying to devour him from the inside. "Yes. A lot has changed."

"I'm sorry about that." White hair fluttered under Steve's nose as Timothy reached in front of him to push open one of the thick double-doors.

Steve stepped in and was first struck by the lack of people in the wide-open space. It was almost dizzying, as though there was too much air in the room, and he actually had to blink a couple of times before he noticed the pair of people sitting off to one side. One with blonde hair, one with brown hair-

"Watch out!" Clint hollered, his expression one of pure horror.

Steve turned, ready with a punch that should've laid any enemy flat. Only, his legs wobbled like overcooked pasta, and he found himself on shaky hands and knees, eye-level with Timothy's shins.

The older man crouched down, placing a heavy hand on Steve's shoulder blade. "You should stay." As he beamed, the crooked teeth straightened and whitened. His features seemed to compress and thin and pale, and the thin white hair thickened and darkened and stretched towards the floor. "Otherwise, you'll miss the fun."

Loki's eyes were the last piece of the puzzle, replacing Timothy's watery brown with the brightest of greens. The smile was both dark and blinding from so close.

His hands were long and thin, almost dainty as they gripped his other shoulder, but then they lifted him, and there was power in those fingers, a strength that made Steve's arms break out in gooseflesh under the sleeves of his suit.

"I am forced to leave you three on your own for a bit," Loki spoke as he dropped Steve into a chair and conjured rope from nowhere to wind up his arms and calves and ensnare him. "I trust that there will be no problems?"

"You sonova-" Clint snarled, but a low word from Thor stole everyone's attention.

"Brother..."

Loki's jaw tensed, but he didn't look at Thor.

"Loki, please..." His mouth moved sluggishly, and Steve realized that whatever Loki had done had impacted Thor more than it had Clint. "The Game is not-"

Loki made a sharp gesture, and Thor's voice vanished. The stillness that followed reminded Steve of the deep breath he took just before jumping out of an airplane. An expectant, impatient moment.

Clint broke the silence, brash as always. "What did you-"

But Loki was gone.

* * *

"I still don't understand why you need my briefcase," Pepper muttered as she ushered him down the walk towards the waiting S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicle. (They must buy those in bulk or something.)

"Well, _I_ don't understand why I couldn't take the suit instead of just bringing it along." Tony tightened his grip on the handles of both cases, the metal and the leather alike. He resisted the urge to slip his hand inside the latter to check for any decrease in temperature. Somehow, the Book weighed more than the suit.

"It's not appropriate for this, and there's no good place to land except for the roof, and this way, I can be sure that you're actually _going to the conference_." She sent him a stern glance as an Agent opened the door for them.

Tony frowned up at the driver as he slid inside. "Where's Happy?"

"I had him drive Livy."

"Who?"

Pepper slammed the door harder than was necessary. "Livy. Olivia Roy. The artist I chose. Do you _ever_ listen when I talk?"

"Only when there's nothing good on TV," Tony responded lightly. He wondered how much longer this would last, the fragile lapse into normalcy. Pepper could demand answers at any time, but she knew better than to ask while they were in a S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicle. He appreciated that.

* * *

Natasha sat cross-legged on the floor of her room, a laptop resting on her legs. The progress bar was stuttering, twitching forward a millimeter only to fall back a half-inch, seemingly unaffected by her rapid typing. Her face was soured by a deeply engraved frown.

Normally, cracking Stark's system was no problem. Normally, she would blast her way in with no regard for the preexisting security. However, most of her previous measures involved leaving a massive hole in the firewalls, something that JARVIS would notice. And while JARVIS could be shut down, Stark wouldn't ignore his toy's silence. The point of giving him free reign was to let him relax, allowing them to observe him subtly. Otherwise, he would take not-inconsiderable countermeasures against them to keep his secrets hidden. This was Director Fury's way, a (supposedly) better way.

And look how well it had worked so far; six new security measures had appeared out of nowhere in the last five days alone. Natasha had infiltrated _governments_ more easily.

The progress bar backtracked a full inch, and she swore under her breath, fingers flying on the keys.

"Having trouble?"

The computer clattered to the floor as Natasha leapt to her feet. Loki sat in one of her enormous armchairs, eyeing her amiably.

Slowly, she began to inch her hand towards the radio clipped to her waistband. "There aren't many people who can sneak up on me." Loki smirked, remembering, and she went on. "Then again, I don't think you really count as a person."

He shrugged. The casual gesture was surprisingly elegant. "A true enough statement. Besides-"

Vice-like fingers closed on her wrist, dragging her hand away from the radio. His pale face loomed over hers. "-I cheat."

Natasha landed a single punch to his jaw before something sharp dug into a vein, and a horrible chill seeped into her blood. Her fingernails scrabbled against the leather, but her arm, chest, legs were going numb. The carpet caught her as she fell.

Loki maintained his grip on her wrist, tugging her upright to lean her against one of the chairs. His eyes were dull for a moment before a false grin replaced the expression. "Apologies."

Natasha's mouth worked defiantly. The word emerged mutilated, but still recognizable.

"L...iar."

His smile didn't drop, but she thought she caught a bit of something bitter in his eyes just before a second something pricked her neck. Her heart slowed, and she struggled for breath as Loki closed her eyelids with two fingers.

* * *

They pulled up to the Peninsula, the chosen venue for the conference, and Tony led the charge into the lobby. The front walk was littered with paparazzi, but the more vicious opponents were already inside eating hors d'oeuvres. Pepper hurried along at his side, reminding him about the do's and don'ts and begging him not to go over his time limit.

The conference room was a bit overwhelming. Maybe it was the sudden turn of heads or the welcoming chorus that arose upon his entrance. Maybe it was the fact that it matched the picture right down to the flower arrangements. Either way, the pleasant facade that Tony summoned took more effort than usual.

Pepper took her briefcase from him to free one of his hands for shaking, and he did his best to ignore the nervous pang in his gut (she wouldn't open it, would she?). Her other hand settled on his arm, guiding him between tables as she gave quick, polite greetings to everyone that they passed. Even after all these years, he had no idea how she managed to know everyone by name.

Trying to look cheerful and not horribly distracted, he nodded at random intervals as he scanned the crowd. At this point, he wouldn't be able to find Puff the Magic Dragon in the middle of this melee, much less Loki. Pepper stepped on his foot, bringing him back to the present long enough to shake the hand of a tall, thin old man with posture like a victorian woman's (Tony had the oddest urge to tell him to ready the Batmobile).

Pepper was eyeing him suspiciously as the man turned away, and Tony glanced around the room in search of a distraction. "What's that?" He asked hurriedly, gesturing towards the cloth-covered something that sat in one corner.

"Livy's painting. One of them, anyway; she's going to show it during the presentation." She turned this way and that, a wrinkle deepening between her brows. "She should really be here by now. I mean, _we _were late..."

Her worries were put on hold as another cluster of people moved to greet them. Tony thought he recognized a board member, but they were gone again too quickly for him to be sure. Pepper was saying something else about the painter, but by then Tony had engaged in an internal debate over the pros and cons of getting a drink from the bar. On one hand, Loki could pop up any second. He had to give a presentation on something that he hadn't reviewed in weeks. Pepper might actually kill him.

On the other hand, alcohol.

He was just beginning to reach for a passing champagne flute when a sudden exclamation from Pepper made him jerk back as though he'd been burned (again). "There they are! By the door!" Her grip on his arm tightened, and she ushered him towards Happy, who was speaking to someone with long, dark hair.

Tony's chest tightened for a moment before the woman turned around. The cut of her dress was simple but flattering, and the burgundy color seemed to smolder in the refined room. A grey wrap was draped artistically over her arms, and simple silver chains glinted on her collarbones. The effect was overwhelmingly elegant.

Then he met her gaze and nearly tripped over his own feet. The woman's glasses did nothing to mute the heady green of her eyes. For the slightest of moments, her face held uncertainty before a broad grin wiped out any and all traces of it.

"This," Pepper gestured, "Is Olivia Roy. Livy, this is Mr. Stark."

Even as those eyes pierced him, Tony felt a prickle of doubt. The basic coloration was right, but there were subtle imperfections: bits of brown in the irises, a few freckles on her forehead, glints of paler brown in her hair. Still, it barely even qualified as a disguise; Loki wouldn't be that daring. (Would he?)

He passed the suit-case to Happy and extended a hand to the woman, adjusting his smile to appear (hopefully) more natural. "Wonderful to meet you."

The fingers were delicate against his palm as she replied, "And you, Mr. Stark," with just the right amount of sincerity.

"Please, call me Tony. Just about everyone does." He thought hard; she was familiar somehow.

For a moment, dark brows drew together, and something untraceable flickered through her eyes. Then it was gone, and she was nodding. "Very well. Tony."

He finally placed her voice and face, and his forced cheer nearly fell flat. "Were you at the Mansion last night?"

"Yes." She looked almost bashful at the mention of it, and she pulled the wrap a bit more tightly around her arms. "I am sorry for intruding-"

Tony waved the words away. "You didn't. Trust me." Pepper hovered between them, eyes darting back and forth (probably ready to intervene in case he said something wildly inappropriate). Tony made a point to be friendly. "Pepper tells me you'll be presenting a piece of your artwork. Nervous?"

"Very." Her fingers absently moved to her bag. "I have cards, but they can only do so much to help."

The accent encroached on her words, and Tony found himself leaning forward slightly to try to decipher it. "And you're... French?" He whistled when she nodded. "Wow. Color me impressed. I can barely give a speech in my _own _language..."

Her expression turned vaguely wooden. "Yes, well..."

"Did you just get here, Livy?" Pepper intervened, sending Tony a look that said _Don't make her nervous, you ass._ Tony blinked in surprise. Usually, Pepper was only ever appropriate and polite to the people they did business with, but now she seemed almost... _protective_.

"Yes," Livy answered, grateful for the topic switch. "I'm afraid I kept him waiting for a while. I misplaced my cards."

"Well, we're just glad you're here," Pepper assured her, smiling warmly. "I was telling Tony about you earlier, and-"

A burst of song interrupted her as Have A Drink On Me emanated from Tony's jacket pocket. He reached in, ignoring Pepper's death glare, and glanced at the number on the phone's display with a frown.

"Sorry, sorry... it's Clint. I should really..." Already backing away, he didn't even finish the sentence before turned and ducked into the hallway.

"Shouldn't you be juggling for a bunch of toddlers right about now?" He settled against a wall as he spoke, but paused to listed carefully to the sounds coming from the phone. It was a garbled mess of muffled words and odd clattering noises.

"Pocket dial. Wonderful." Tony ended the call and headed for the doors again, but he only made it three steps before the song blasted again. Two guests sent him curious looks.

Turning away with a grumble, he lifted the phone to his ear again. "I thought we said no more prank calls."

A burst of sound made him wince and hold the phone away from his head. "JARVIS, filter that. Isolate the voice."

The static persisted for another second before the words came through, jumbled together.

"-can't hear us-"

"-back any second-"

"-shut _up_, Steve-"

"-Tony? Tony, you've got to-"

Worry spiked in his chest, and he raised his voice. "Guys? What's happening?" Nobody answered him. "JARVIS, hack that phone. Raise the volume as far as you can and put it on speaker."

_Sir, I don't think-_

"Just do it, dammit," He snapped, turning away from the befuddled reporters standing by the doors. He took a few more steps into the hallway, listening intently to the fragments of sentences for the minute it took to commandeer the phone.

_It is done._

"Hey, I'm here," Tony half-shouted immediately. "I'm here, what's-"

"Tony!" Clint's voice was crackly. "Loki's got us in Brooklyn. It was a trap, the whole day was a trap. You've got to get here before he comes back-"

_Stop me,_ the Book had said. Tony felt cold. "I'll get there. Just tell me where you are."

"The Gravesend community center in Brooklyn." Steve's voice came over the line. "Hurry, Tony."

"On my way, just stay on the line. JARVIS, find me an exit." He kept the phone pressed against his ear as he dove back into the room. "I need this," he said, grabbing the metal suitcase back from Happy. Pepper and Livy stared at him, shocked. "It's an emergency," He hissed. "I have to go- I _have_ to-" he repeated as Pepper's expression turned livid. "They've been kidnapped, and I have to. I'm sorry."

Without another word, he dashed out of the conference room and headed for the roof.

_Game on._

* * *

Pepper thought she might hyperventilate. She sat down slowly, trying to breathe slowly even as a tide of panic rose in her chest.

Tony was gone. Tony was gone after muttering something about a kidnapping, and yes, it was perfectly understandable, but now she had to get up in front of America and give a speech that she hadn't even thought about giving in a week about gadgets that she never understood to begin with and oh, God, she couldn't breathe-

Livy had one hand on her shoulder. Green eyes were wide behind her glasses. "Pepper. Pepper, it will be okay. What can I do? What do you need?"

She swallowed. "Just... water. I need a glass of water, and... then I'll... I'll be fine."

Dark hair fluttered as Livy nodded once and turned to fetch a waiter, or else get it herself. Pepper put her head in her hands, counting down from one hundred. She was simultaneously guilty for being so focused on herself and ready to strangle Tony the next chance she got.

"Miss me?"

She dropped her hands, staring upwards in confusion. "What are you doing here?"

"False alarm. A little kid got ahold of Clint's phone."

"Oh." Relief made her shaky. "Good. That's good." She tried to remain composed as she checked her watch. "Are you ready? We've got one minute to get you a mike. You've got your cards, right?"

Before her, Tony smiled broadly. "I don't think I'll need the cards this time."

* * *

**Ehehehehehe... *smirks***

**Pardon my evil streak.**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep.**


	31. Chapter 31

**I am so, so sorry. I didn't mean for this to be so late. Everything in the last three weeks went wrong in my life, and... well, I should just get a Tumblr and vent about it there. Let's just say that it wasn't a very healthy environment for writing fanfiction. The number of scrapped words for this chapter is outrageous. Still, that's no excuse, and I'm sorry.**

**On a brighter note, we broke one thousand reviews. I almost had a heart attack. Thank you all so much for your support and readership over the past six months! I'm sure I wouldn't have made it this far without you all.**

**Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine. Neither is Channel Four.**

**Warnings: The usual.**

**Onward!**

* * *

Loki brushed a speck of dust off of his suit, tugging at the collar. Around him, the Midgardians hummed mindlessly among themselves in a seemingly endless drone, but he tuned them out. Instead, he was fixated on his hands. Stark's hands, really. During the few past instances in which he had touched them, he had noticed an abundance of scars on his palms and fingers. Some were long and thin; others were broad and blotchy. Some were comprised of white, shiny tissue, while a whole range of pinks overlapped the tan hide beneath. Replicating it had been thoroughly enjoyable, almost like creating a piece of art. A sculpture rather than a painting. He turned his fingers over, watching the light play on a stripe of tissue that gleamed like a pearl.

_Fascinating._

"Tony?"

He looked up, aiming to achieve Stark's unconcerned boredom. Pepper was giving him an unfamiliar look, one of wariness and exasperation. He supposed that she reserved it for Stark and Stark alone. "Yes?"

She sighed, leaning in. Loki stiffened for a moment until he felt her fingers on the lapel of the suit, attaching something to the cloth. "You haven't been drinking, have you?"

"Not even a little." But perhaps he should. Stark, ever the careless one, would certainly have no qualms about it.

"Thank God. Listen, I know you said you didn't need them, but I put the cards on the podium, just in case you draw a blank."

"Thank you."

Pepper snorted, shaking her head slightly as she tucked a wire into his jacket. "There. All ready."

There was a pause, and he was tempted to ask Pepper what her opinion of "Livy" was, but decided against it. His gaze returned to his fingers, and he passed one thumb over the palm of the opposite hand, finding a ridge that he remembered from when Stark's hands had been riddled with cuts from the knives. A small smile threatened to appear, and after a moment, Loki allowed it. After all, he wore another's skin.

"Tony."

He blinked down at her in barely-withheld surprise. Her tone was not entirely pleasant. "Hm?"

"Don't think for one second that I forgot about this morning. After this is over, we're going to talk." Her eyes held a stern gleam.

Loki nodded, doing his best to appear understanding and somber as he considered what there was for Stark to discuss with Pepper. Not the Game, surely? He would not be so careless.

As Pepper nodded and took Loki's arm to lead him to the podium, a sudden thought sent unwelcome shards of ice surging down his spine. Perhaps Stark was involved with Pepper romantically.

There was no time to process this new possibility as he took his place before the assembled sheep. Almost all of them were turned towards him, glints of readiness in their gazes and smiles. Some had paper and pencils poised, while three others maneuvered bulky black contraptions towards him. Cameras, he supposed.

Pepper sat in the front and center table, next to Livy (or, rather, a projection of Livy. It would fool her as long as no one attempted physical contact). She maintained eye contact as the men with the machines began to count down from ten.

_Smile,_ Pepper mouthed as they neared one, and Loki put on his broadest grin as the little red lights blinked on.

This would be fun.

* * *

Clint did his best to keep his voice calm and coherent as the background noise of Tony's call filled the empty air. Still, the anxiety ballooned under his ribs in familiar swells, and he was having trouble drawing a deep breath. His arms and legs were bound by rope. _Rope._ Stupid, simple rope that should have been easy to cut with the knife that he kept in his belt. Instead, it squirmed away from the blade and drew tighter around his wrists until he lost the feeling in his fingertips. He couldn't hold an arrow now, much less shoot one with much accuracy. Helpless - they were all helpless. Loki could drop in any time and slit their throats. Just thinking about it made his chest tighten further.

"Stay with me," Tony was saying. "I'm having JARVIS chart me a course and contact Fury. Keep talking to me."

His hand tightened compulsively on the phone in his hand. The process of working it out of his back pocket and hitting redial had drenched him in nervous sweat, and the idea of dropping it made his mouth go dust-dry. "Just get here."

"I'm only seven minutes out. You going to tell me what happened now, or later?"

"Shouldn't you focus on-" Steve interjected, but Clint cut him off. Talking eased the tightness in his throat.

"He grabbed me and Thor when we were at the hospital. You wouldn't have believed it, Tony. He turned into this woman, took us by surprise in the elevator. Paralyzed us. Then he drops our asses in the middle of some center-"

"The Gravesend community center," Steve offered.

"Not the point. Anyway, he sticks us in here, and then, about a half-hour later, this guy walks in. Captain No-Help-At-All."

"What? He paralyzed me, too!"

"Can it, Steve. So then he does his Houdini thing, and the next thing you know, he's dumping Natasha here, too. He's gotta be on his way to you, so watch your back." His stomach lurched as he pictured Loki nabbing Tony before he had a chance to rescue them.

"I'll be careful." Tony's seriousness was almost more disconcerting than his jokes would have been. "Anyone hurt?"

Clint glanced around, though he already knew the answer. "Mostly just bruises on my end, but Thor's arm is _seriously_ broken. Loki almost poked out his eye, too. Steve doesn't have a scratch, and Natasha looks okay."

"Looks?"

"She's pretty out of it. Half-conscious. Maybe she got hit with a stronger dose of the poison, like Thor. He could barely talk even before Loki did some of that voodoo shit to shut him up."

"Well, for now, let's talk exit strategy. I'm less than ten minutes away, so we-"

He broke off, and Clint had a not inconsiderable panic attack. "Tony? Tony, what's happening?" Steve tried to say something reassuring, but Clint shushed him as the voice reappeared.

"Fury's calling. JARVIS, answer it." There was a crackle-pop of static, and then: "I'm a tad occupied at the moment, Director."

* * *

"Stark, what the hell are you doing?"

Tony winced at the tone. "I think it's called a 'rescue'? I thought they taught these things in spy school." He broke through the thicket of skyscrapers and put on a burst of speed.

A pause. He thought he could hear chatter in the background.

"You're legitimately on your way to Brooklyn?"

"Just over halfway. Seriously, Fury, what's-?"

"Look, Stark, take care of the team, but then get your metal ass over to the Peninsula Hotel. Bring anyone who's well enough to fight."

Tony's raised eyebrow went unnoticed. "Bring them where, the conference? Why?"

"Those are your orders, Stark." Fury snapped. "We'll debrief you once you're on your way back to the island."

A scowl tugged at Tony's face. The word _orders_ rasped against his skin like sandpaper. "Screw that. JARVIS, show me what's happening."

"Stark-"

A little square frame of film appeared on his screen. Tony dropped two hundred feet before he remembered to catch himself. "Holy... oh, for fuck's sake, is that _live?_"

"…Yes."

"What's going on? Tony? Are you close?"

Tony's didn't respond as the realization struck like lightning: the picture. He couldn't find Loki in the picture, because there was no _Loki_ to be found. There was only himself… and a bunch of civilians who were about to be stuck in the crosshairs.

He slowed in mid-air, deaf to Fury's orders. "He doesn't want me to find you."

"What?" Clint's voice held a note of alarm. "No, of course not, because he's going to _kill us._"

"No, he won't," Tony muttered. In the HUD screen, Loki nodded and waved a nonchalant hand, speaking words that he couldn't hear. "He can't. _Fuck_, that's not fair…"

"What are you smoking? Loki can do whatever the fuck he wants to us unless you get here right the hell now!"

"No," Tony turned and aimed himself back at the Peninsula. "S.H.I.E.L.D. will take care of you."

"Tony, you've gotta be fucking kidding-!"

Fury's voice came over the line simultaneously, low and rapid and threatening. "Stark, the team is our priority. Get them to safety before you do anything-"

Tony ended the call, cutting off both voices. He put on a burst of speed and enlarged the video.

_Sir, you have deviated from the path to the coordinates chosen-_

"Cancel that. And get me audio for the conference."

* * *

Clint felt nauseous. Confused and angry, too, but mostly nauseous.

On his left, Steve was the color of milk. "Did he just-?"

"Yeah. He did." Clint swallowed. "We're fucked."

* * *

Pepper nodded along as Tony went through the introductions, thanking the assembled press and board members. His charm was almost over the top, but at this point, any good press was a godsend. She let herself relax a little as he went on; maybe he'd actually listened to her when she'd prepped him for this one.

"-but before we get to the fun stuff, I have a few statements I have to give regarding the current state of the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D."

Or not.

"You see, I've been repeatedly put in the position of having to lie, supposedly to protect the public from their own panic." The reporters buzzed excitedly among themselves. "Be that as it may, I would like to correct and clear up certain statements I have made in the past few weeks."

Pepper stared up at him in abject confusion. Fury had authorized this? She cast an anxious look at Livy; she had been hoping that the other woman wouldn't have to witness another Stark-debacle firsthand. She displayed only polite interest.

"I'll assume that you all remember my actions from a few weeks ago, when I attacked a woman and was arrested for it. I told you that she was an operative of an organization known as HYDRA, but that is entirely untrue. The woman I attacked was none other than Loki, the villain who declared war on earth last spring."

The room stood still for a heartbeat before bursting into a frenzy of shouted questions and murmured fears. A creeping, sick sort of feeling took up residence in Pepper's stomach.

"I realize it must sound ludicrous," Tony continued, raising his voice slightly over the rabble, "but it is the truth. Loki has been in our midst for months now, but his existence on earth has been kept a secret simply for the purposes of preventing the public from alarm. The only reason we are altering this policy now is out of necessity.

"Over the past few weeks, Loki has displayed a skill that we were previously unaware of: he has been transforming himself into the likeness of certain important figures in our community." Another surge of queries rose, but he waved them away with a grace that was unusual, almost eerie. "I understand your confusion, ladies and gentlemen, but I am being entirely serious when I say that Loki has the power to mimic the appearance of anyone, anything. It is also within his power to influence people against their will, and curse those that he dislikes. These magical abilities, in addition to his mental instability, are proving him to be an unpredictable, undetectable, and – possibly – uncatchable opponent.

"We are unsure of his motives and of the number of people that he has impersonated. However, at the moment, we are facing a much more serious crisis." Tony paused, surveying the room. "We believe that Loki is either controlling or imitating one or more of the Avengers themselves."

Many of the journalistic reporters leapt to their feet and called out their questions. The remainder of the people whispered and fretted among themselves. Pepper met Tony's gaze for a split second and tried to communicate her confusion, but he looked away.

"It isn't easy," Tony went on, and the people quieted. "But we have been able to determine whether the person is being controlled or impersonated through an intense series of interrogations. So far, only I have been cleared. The Black Widow, Hawkeye, Captain America, and Thor have yet to be captured and questioned. The four of them are currently being contained in the Gravesend Community Center, and will soon be moved to a more secure facility to undergo their questioning." His face was somber. "While there is little doubt that my team will be restored before long, these events do not bode well for us, especially if the team members in question are not actually under Loki's spell..."

Pepper's phone buzzed in her pocket, the sound masked by the renewed cries of the crowd. Pepper's heart felt like a stone as she reached for it, expecting the caller ID to say Fury, Coulson, Andrew.

_Tony Stark_, it insisted, the familiar picture smiling out at her. Her gaze snapped up to the podium, where her boss fended off the pointed, anxious shouts being thrown at him. Her mouth was as dry as tinder as she ducked her head and answered.

"Pepper! Pepper, thank God-"

"Tony?" She gasped out. At the front of the room, Tony glanced down at her, just for a moment, and his eyes narrowed. She turned away from him, heart pounding. "Look, this isn't funny-"

"Loki's the one talking to the reporters," the person on the other end interrupted. "That's _Loki_. He kidnapped the team, but S.H.I.E.L.D. is handling it, I'm on my way-"

Pepper's attention was drawn upwards as Tony raised his voice, quieting the reporters. "I will continue to do my duty to the public as Iron Man, but there is only so much I can do against this evil man. There doesn't seem to be any purpose to what he does. We don't know where or why he will strike next, nor are we capable of tracking his whereabouts, as I said. Because of his unique skill set, we find that our hands are tied." He leaned forward, an odd gleam in his eyes. "To sum it all up, there is absolutely nothing we can do to protect you until he shows himself."

"-Pepper? Pepper, are you-?"

"How soon will you get here?" She murmured, barely daring to breathe. Now that she'd seen it, it was obvious. This Tony held himself upright, shoulders back with an ease that hinted at a barely-concealed properness. His gestures were sporadic but somehow fluid, even elegant. "Tony, Loki's telling all sorts of-"

"I know. Listen, throw a shoe, shout fire, just do something. Distract away from him before he does more damage."

Pepper twisted in her seat, spying a little red box on the far wall. "I can do better than that."

"Good. I'm three minutes away, just… try not to put yourself in the line of fire."

Her chest felt constrictive and tight as Tony's brown eyes pierced her from the podium. "I won't."

She hung up and slid out of her seat, weaving through the tables and around some of the more enthusiastic attendees as she hurried towards the fire alarm. She could feel Loki's attention like a brand on the back of her head.

* * *

"Watch it," Clint snapped as bolt cutters scraped along his ring finger. The agent behind him muttered an apology, but the pressure of the cold metal didn't go anywhere.

"It's not working," Steve grated out. His face was locked into a stony grimace as another pair of agents worked on his bindings. "They can't be cut."

"It's _rope_," one of the commanding officers stomped over, looking harried. "What're you trying to say, rope can't be cut anymore? Congress passed some stupid law I didn't hear about?"

"_Magic…_ rope." Natasha slurred. Thor bobbed his head sluggishly, still mute.

"No such thing."

"There's no explaining it, Sir," The man working on Clint's ropes stood to face his superior. The bold cutters waggled in the air as he gestured. "We can probably break the chairs to free their legs and get them to a safer location to deal with their arms."

The officer sent Clint and the others a dirty look, as though they had been the ones to invent the stuff. "Fine. You three, prep the vans. The rest of you, follow Davis' lead. For the love of God, don't cut off any limbs."

* * *

The screech of the alarm made the entire room jump and shriek as the sprinkler system activated. Bedlam ensued instantly as cameramen threw themselves over their equipment and sprinted for the doors. A few reporters tried to ask further questions, but their voices were lost in the din. Pepper turned, holding up a hand to shield her eyes from the spray. Tony's eyes (_Loki's_ eyes) were all but slits. For the first time, a tickle of terror took her breath away.

She moved to follow the crowd, only to catch herself against the back of a chair and let out a strangled shriek. Her heels had rooted themselves to the floor.

"Stay."

The word barely carried over the hiss of the sprinklers. Tony rested his arms against the podium, a cold look on his face. Pepper felt faint as she tugged at her ankles, silently praying to be released. The clamor of the reporters faded down the hall, leaving them in a silence that was soupy with adrenaline and fear. The chandeliers had dimmed, and the exit signs glowed a violent red.

Tony straightened after a moment, reaching up to smooth his hair; the frigidity was replaced by a smile that was wrong in its rightness. "Speech was that bad, huh? I should've known. Four hours of practicing in the mirror, and I still tripped over my own tongue.

"Stop it." Water seeped down to her skin, but that wasn't the cause of her shudder. "Stop being him."

"Him?" He spread his arms, a parody of Tony's brashness. "This is me, Pep. This is all there is to me." He let his arms fall, and his grin returned. "Didn't know you hated me so much."

"You're cruel," Pepper whispered, frozen in place.

"Cruelty. Is that what this is?" He moved around the podium, one hand trailing against the wood. A fire truck bellowed in the distance. "Perhaps there are only ever mistakes, and how they are perceived." He widened his eyes a bit and tipped his head to one side. "You always forgave me when I made mistakes before."

"Stop it."

A new smile spread across his face, one that didn't belong. A malicious smile. "Giving orders will do you no favors, Ms. Potts."

"Why are you doing this?" She snapped, panic making her careless. Her feet were going numb.

He opened his mouth, but the response came from the doorway.

"Don't waste your words, Pep. He's not big on answers."

She let out a short cry before she could stifle it as Tony, a second Tony, came through the doorway. The metal of the suit gleamed in the spray. His face was tense in the absence of the mask.

"Oh."

Pepper looked back to the man by the podium. Brown eyes were wide – not with the mocking mimicry of prior moments, but with genuine awe. He stood perfectly still, staring. A laugh, gleeful and short and wrong, escaped his lips.

"Oh, _marvelous,_" he breathed. "So chivalrous, so concerned for your fellows, so willing to sacrifice yourself for their lives. Yet when they find themselves at risk, you find yourself… here." He chuckled darkly. "Are you truly so quick to disregard their peril?"

Pepper gaped between them, seeking differences in their faces and finding none. The Tony in the doorway took a step.

"They can handle themselves."

"Can they? I arrived at a different conclusion altogether."

"You're here. That must mean the Challenge is here. Not that I would know – I mean, you didn't throw me a lot of bones."

"Bones? Nonsense."

"Clues. No clues." His expression, however dark, held a note of exasperation. "So much for playing fair, huh?"

"If you were not alert enough to notice them, it does not mean that they did not exist."

"Maybe it just means that you didn't want me to find them."

"Not so. Besides, you chose a battle over a rescue. Most surprising, indeed…"

The Tony in the suit sent her a glance. "I think this counts as both. Pepper, if you could step out for a minute-"

Another laugh, higher than was natural. Pepper's gaze latched onto the Tony by the podium as he sneered at his suited twin. "My, my. How protective, Stark. How _caring._"

Armor whirred anxiously as Tony took a step back, jaw tight. Pepper looked between them in confusion. The semi-silence masked a tension that she didn't comprehend, something deep that lurked just out of sight.

"She has nothing to do with this."

"I disagree." The one by the front of the room – Loki – drew closer, trailing his fingers against a sodden tablecloth as he went. "You may have extended protection to your comrades, Stark, but you failed to offer the same privilege to Ms. Potts. She is not immune to the Game's wrath. Had you offered such security, it would presently made void in the face of her purposeful disruption of the Game itself. Even if she did so without your knowledge, one or both of you are in direct violation of the Fourth Rule of the Game."

"She didn't _know_."

The other bared his teeth in a black grin. "Ignorance does not excuse her actions."

Pepper felt sick, confused. The cold was burrowing into her belly and her head, because now they were talking about a game, something with clues and challenges and wrath, and God, she wished she could run.

"Bullshit. This isn't about her, and you know it. You're still pissed, you're still lying, and-"

Shouts sounded from the stairs and hall, and Tony broke off uneasily, his eyes flitting from Loki to the door. Pepper stared hard at him, at the real Tony, willing him to either blast Loki through the wall or rip her away from the floor and fly to safety. But he didn't look her way. His gaze was locked with his doppelganger's.

"Tony," she whispered, but a crash stopped her words cold. In the hallway, the voices rose in volume with startling rapidness. One of them swore in a sharp, foreign tongue - there was a blur of movement-

Pepper fell forward as her feet came free, tingling and burning. Her head spun, and a man was shouting at her, pulling her up by her arms and asking her something.

She didn't respond, blinking water out of her eyes as she stared dumbly at the empty armor that sprawled across the carpet.

* * *

"This is humiliating," Clint muttered as he stumbled through the front doors. The ropes around his wrists kept his hands behind his back.

"It's not a cakewalk for us, either," puffed one of the agents supporting Thor. Three of them had positioned themselves on all sides and were half-carrying, half-helping him towards the three black vans that waited by the curb.

Clint tripped over his own foot and swore excessively. It earned him a weary look from Steve, but he didn't care. He was tied up with some magical shit, Tony had abandoned them, and more importantly, he was bow-less. It couldn't get any worse.

There was a screech of breaks, and he looked up in time to see a news crew leap from a dark blue van and sprint across the sidewalk towards them.

"Over there! They're over there!" A blonde woman shouted, frantically smoothing her hair. Her cameraman pulled off his lens cap, and a little red light blinked to life.

"Go in three, two-"

"This is Morgan Stuart, reporting live from outside the Gravesend Community Center, where the Avengers are being taken into custody-"

"Shit," Clint hissed, eyes wide. "Shit, shit, fucking _shit_-"

Four of the agents stepped forward to meet them; Agent Darcy served as their spokesperson. "Please put that away, or we'll be forced to confiscate-"

"Avengers," the woman shouted over him. "You're on Channel Four News. Earlier, Tony Stark stated that you are all under suspicion of being controlled by or in allegiance with the villain Loki. Do you have a response?"

Clint stared. "Allegiance? You've gotta be-"

Steve's face was a blotchy red, and he opened his mouth, only to have an agent grab him by the arm and pull him towards the nearest car. Another man gripped Clint's elbow and tugged him along, acting as though the camera was nothing more than a gnat as he maneuvered them into the van after the Captain.

"Any comment? Defense? The world needs to know how long this menace has been among us, and how to protect-"

The van door slammed, and tires screamed. Steve and Clint exchanged wary looks.

"The fuck was that all about?"

* * *

In the darkness, a roar rattled Tony's skull, obliterating everything. Something moved in the void. The hold on his throat faltered, then tightened brutally, crushing him-

They slammed back to earth. Tony gasped in a ragged breath, then spat out a mouthful of grit as he choked on dust. The bestial scream rang in his ears, and he struggled to gather his bearings. Loki's hand was absent from his neck, but he could feel its echo on his skin; his windpipe felt dented.

"What was-" Another raspy cough scraped at the insides of his throat, and he swallowed convulsively. Talking – not such a great idea, as it turned out.

Pushing himself to his feet, he dimly noted the absence of the usual nausea and visibility issues; the charm was heavy and hot in his jacket pocket. Still, he felt shaky – a numbness had settled into his bones, the kind that usually followed a battle.

What made that sound? That roar?

Loki stood a few feet in front of him, his face turned towards the sun. Not the farce from the conference, but his real face. He could have been a marble monument if not for his hair, which rippled softly in the wind. He was paler than bone, eyes glazed as he stared into the light.

A wind buffeted him in sharp, quick gusts that made him want to hold on to something, and he took a quick step away from the edge of the building. They were on a roof barely a half-mile away from the hotel; he could even see the lights of the fire trucks far below. The clear, cloudless blue expanse, the sun's warmth, the breeze's chill- everything was larger and quieter in the sky. Far below, the traffic was nothing more than a gentle hum. The breeze whistled in the absence of words, high and reedy and eerie.

Tony stayed still, almost afraid to disrupt the fragility of the silence. The absence of his suit was like an open wound, leaving him exposed to whatever wrath Loki would throw at him. But Loki didn't look like he was preparing to throw anything; he simply maintained his stillness. Tony was too wary to break it first. Loki's words echoed in his ears, spiteful and harsh, but no anger welled up beneath his skin. It was as though the wide-open sky was siphoning the fight from his blood, leaving him drained.

Loki's head turned suddenly, snakelike in its speed. Tony flinched, half-expecting an energy blast to the chest, but Loki only fixed him with an unbearably stoic look. When he spoke, his voice was rushed and higher than usual. "Foolish of you, leaving your team. I could have been at their sides in a moment, and what could you have done to save them?"

Tony blinked the wind out of his eyes and did his best to hold his ground. "Well. I would probably find the nearest bar, maybe cry a little-"

"Amusing. You fail to grasp the severity of-"

"I grasp it just fine. What I _don't _grasp is why you're doing this." Loki was ice. Pure, frigid, still. "You make no sense, do you understand that? I thought I was starting to figure you out-"

"You cannot fathom what I am. Trying is nothing more than infantile prayer."

"Wow." Tony shook his head slightly. "You must really think I'm stupid. You can put on airs all you like, but I've seen you. Just a little, maybe, but I've seen what you're trying to hide."

Loki let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a laugh and a snort of derision. "Then you conjured what you wished to see."

"You're the magician here, not me. But see, you conceal things; you don't make them appear." He expected the fire to return to Loki's gaze, something fierce, something alive, but all he could see was the ice. The infernal ice. "Pretend all you want, but you don't fool me for a second."

"You are only fooling yourself."

"Dammit, would you quit acting like this? I know you're hiding under that- that shield. You think I'll stop pushing one day, but it's not going to happen. I don't give up."

Loki's fists were clenched at his sides. Tendons quivered beneath the skin. "You think me mortal. You presume that I have a core of _humanity_ that you can uncover and bring to the surface, but you are _wrong_. I have no humanity."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" The blood was hot in Tony's veins. He took a step forward. "Being above our stupid, petty emotions. But you've got them- you've got anger and hate and pain and fear, and that just kills you. _That's_ why you pretend to be so goddamn cold. _That's _why you throw up a wall instead of showing what you feel. Because you can't stand that you're feeling something. You think it brings you down to our level, and you know what? You're _right._ Deep down, you're just like everyone else."

Loki blurred. Hands gripped his shoulders, thumbs pressed against his windpipe. Loki's eyes blazed – _there was the fire_ – and he bared teeth in a snarl. Tony's balance wavered, and he grappled with Loki's sleeves. The metal was cool beneath his fingertips.

"I could kill you," he seethed, "I could tear you asunder without a care for your _impudence_-"

"Without a care?" Tony tightened his grip on Loki's arms, barely mindful of the fingers on his throat. "I don't believe you."

Loki's hands trembled against Tony's skin. His breathing was unsteady. "You think yourself cleverer than I? You think-"

"I think you're scared."

He recoiled, and Tony clung to his arms with a ferocity born of recklessness and desperation alike.

"I think you ran away last night."

"You dare-"

"I think you _care_."

Loki's eyes were wild. The wind screamed.

"Go ahead, tell me I'm wrong. But it doesn't matter, because even though you deny it over and over again, I _know_-"

Loki's lips crashed onto his. For a kiss so full of desperation, it was astoundingly chaste. A savage burst of pressure, of heaven. Tony sucked in a shocked breath as Loki tried to pull back and away, and the air tasted like him, like mint and leather and magic. Tony's hands found the back of his neck and tugged, trying to force him back down.

He resisted, trying to escape Tony's death-grip. "I don't," he murmured brokenly. His breath was sweet. "I don't care, I cannot, I-"

Tony pulled him back, drunk with the feel of Loki's lips on his, bitter with words. There was a still moment, achingly long as Loki stood frozen, simply breathing. Then fingers dug into his hair, another hand splayed against his back, and Loki's teeth sank into Tony's lower lip. He shuddered, pressing closer, drowning. Loki's kiss was an attack and an accusation and a plea and a dare, and all Tony could do was return it in kind. It blurred into a mess of tongue and teeth and the taste of mint and blood and metal and Loki. A cheekbone was sharp beneath his fingers, a hand was brutal in his hair. Loki devoured him with an urgency that left him reeling and thirsting.

When Loki dragged himself away, Tony kept him close, breathing in his gasps. His heart was galloping, and oxygen seemed scarce. Loki's fingers trailed across his shoulder blade like ghosts before rooting themselves in a harsh grip.

"How can you care?" Loki's voice was hoarse and sharp, and the words came out sounding like _how dare you care_.

"Because..." Their noses brushed, and Tony sighed. Words were utterly useless at a time like this. "Maybe I... find you fascinating."

Loki let out a shuddery laugh, shaking his head. "You fool. You utter-"

Tony cut him off with a kiss.

* * *

**Cheers,**

**Blacksheep.**


	32. Chapter 32

**Hello, everyone!**

**This chapter... well, a) didn't want to be written properly, and b) is still the longest fucking thing in the entire world. At least, in this story so far. Seriously, guys, I edited and altered the crap out of this thing. Otherwise, it would have been up yesterday. And the only reason I didn't split this bitch in half is because I thought you guys deserved a long one since I'm being so sparse with my updates.**

**I love every word of your kind (and occasionally abusive) reviews! They cheer me up when I need it most. Thank you all so much!**

**Also, I wish lots of love and luck to everyone who is preparing for or currently enduring the effects of Hurricane Sandy.**

**Disclaimer: ... I think you guys get it by now.**

**Warnings: Some angst. (Don't blame me, blame the freaking Iron Man 3 trailer.)**

**Onward!**

* * *

Coulson strode through the hall, ignoring the way the carpet squished beneath his shoes. The sprinkler had been shut off upon their arrival, and everyone, even the firemen, had been cleared from the building.

"Watch it," a shrill voice carried through the hall. "_Watch_ it. That's not yours-"

Well, almost everyone.

Coulson stepped into the conference room, where Pepper was guarding the empty shell of Stark's armor like a mother bear. A handful of agents shifted in place, sending one another uncertain looks.

"You can't take it," She snapped. Her expression was fierce. "I won't let you, I won't- get _away_ from him-"

Coulson cleared his throat, and the cluster of agents jumped like puppets strung on a single string. "Wait outside," he instructed, and they obeyed hastily.

Pepper watched him like a hawk as he moved closer. "I won't let you take it either." Her words came out a bit too high and shaky, and she cleared her throat. "Tony doesn't want Fury to get his hands on it."

"I'm sure he doesn't." He took in her disheveled appearance – soaked to the bone, with hair plastered to her face and neck. Her shoes were nowhere to be seen. "Pepper, where's Tony?"

She quailed at the question, blinking and wiping her eyes. "He… he was standing right here. Right here, and Loki just…." She made a vague gesture before clapping a hand to her mouth as though she was trying to stop herself from throwing up or sobbing.

Coulson took a closer look at the armor, but he couldn't see any sign of life. "Pepper?" He inched closer and put a hand on her shoulder, paying no attention to her flinch. She was trembling. "Pepper, is Tony alive?"

She jerked out of his hold, eyes wide and watery and raging. "How would I know?" She growled. "He's _gone_. He might be alive, he might be… might…." She paled horribly, choking on air, and Coulson stepped forward to steady her. His toe nudged the armor on the floor between them.

"Where is he? Why did he go somewhere else?" He pushed. Her eyes were fixed on something only she could see, and she swallowed heavily.

"Because Loki took him."

* * *

Silence reigned in the infirmary.

The Avengers occupied every available surface – Thor got the bed, while the rest of them crowded onto countertops, chairs. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s medical staff hovered around them, checking reflexes and handing out ice packs and gauze. There was almost no air to breathe, but Fury had snapped at them to _stick together, no matter what._ It didn't bother Clint; in fact, the crush of people was almost comforting. It was the antithesis of the huge, open room where Loki had held them.

His hands were white-knuckled on his bow, retrieved from the hospital's elevator by a pair of agents earlier on. The grip was reassuring under his still-tingling fingers, and he glared ferociously when one of the nurses asked if she could put it aside and examine his hands. His bruises throbbed, but he couldn't make himself release the bow even to grab an ice pack from the cooler by the door.

On the counter across from him, Steve had one pack pressed to his wrists, where the skin was raw and red from the ropes (Clint had the exact same marks). The Captain's gaze had gone glassy as he stared at the opposite wall, lost in thought.

Thor slumped beneath the covers in the single bed, sleeping. The archer had made a point not to look in his direction while the god had been conscious; he had known that the crushed, angry pain would've been written all over Thor's features, overwhelming in his single visible eye. The other was hidden behind a patch, swollen shut. The doctors had told him to rest it for a while and had splinted his broken wrist. The god hadn't said a word the entire time, but Clint wasn't sure whether or not it was a result of Loki's magic.

Natasha sat on his left, prodding her neck with two fingers. A cherry-red blister peeked from beneath her collar, left over from the insertion of Loki's paralytic. Her eyes were dull, signaling a rare lapse of attention. A bubble of worry swelled in Clint's throat, but he held his tongue. By then, he knew what was and wasn't the right time to talk to Natasha about the important things.

"Well."

Clint turned towards the Captain, who seemed to be at a loss for a follow-up sentence. "Well?"

Steve swallowed, shifting the ice pack on his wrist as his gaze dropped to the floor. "What are we supposed to do now?"

"That," Fury's voice sounded from the doorway, "is a very good question." Clint watched as the director turned his gaze on the nurses, who quavered. "Give us a moment."

Only after the door clicked shut behind the last of them did Fury's face fall into a deep-set scowl that made Clint's gut clench uneasily. The director picked up a remote from the counter and aimed it at the TV on the far wall. It flickered to life, showing a woman speaking soundlessly from a news station. Behind her played a montage of videos – Tony at a podium, waving away questions as he spoke; Clint's own shocked face as he was pulled into one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s vans; a grainy piece of footage from the attack on Manhattan, featuring a blurry figure in a gleaming bronze helmet-

"Stop me if I'm wrong," Fury addressed the silence, clasping his hands behind his back, "but I have been led to believe that Loki managed to kidnap every one of you from more than one location with minimal difficulty or disturbance. And after leaving you all in Brooklyn, he headed over to the Peninsula to give a little speech in Stark's place, because _Stark_ was on his way to Brooklyn to save your hides. Only, he didn't. He slammed on the brakes and did an illegal U-turn the second he heard what Loki was up to. And, according to Miss Potts, he got there just in time to be whisked away to a mystery location, sans armor."

Clint sat up straighter, ignoring the way his back twanged and creaked. Steve sent him a wide-eyed look, signaling similar feelings of alarm. He'd assumed that Tony was pursuing Loki, or tracking him.

Fury kept going, either ignorant of their distress or merely ignoring it. "But that's not the best part. Channel Four managed to get an exclusive shot of the Avengers being frog-marched into S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicles less that four minutes after Loki spouted that bullshit about controlling you. That, combined with the rest of Loki's little charade, will be the front page of every paper and magazine countrywide tomorrow." He glared at each of them in turn. "How am I doing so far?"

"Director-"

"It was rhetorical, Rogers." His voice had a cold bite to it. "I know exactly how I'm doing. What baffles me is that this is happening in the first place. This PR _catastrophe_. We were on shaky enough ground with the civilians _before_ they thought we were lying to them or under the control of a psychopath. We haven't had this much bad press since those senators blamed us for the alien attack last May. And if that wasn't bad enough, people are panicking because they think Loki is going to shape-shift his way into their homes and that we aren't going to be able to do shit to stop him. What's worse, that seems pretty accurate right about now." He shook his head in palpable disgust. "I can already see the headlines: _Government Hides Alien Presence. Mass Murderer Returns. Avengers Apprehended. Avengers Unable to Protect Manhattan. Avengers Untrustworthy_. And, if we're very, very lucky, _Stark Goes Batshit-Crazy_."

"I don't see how it's Tony's fault," Clint spoke up, voicing a certainty that he was less than certain of. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about Tony abandoning them to take on Loki all on his own. At the same time, his conscience berated him for doubting a friend who was currently trapped somewhere with an enemy.

Steve was nodding in his peripheral vision. "I agree. Blaming Tony might be the easy way out, but there's absolutely no justification for it."

Fury only glared for a moment, his eyes fixed on Clint until the archer's skin began to prickle. "Maybe you're right," he said at last, "but he went against a direct order today."

"And that's such a shock." Clint crossed his arms, ignoring how the bow dug into his chest. "Come on, Fury. He made a choice. I'm sure you'd be chewing him out over how much more damage had been done if he hadn't gone back."

"If he hadn't gone back, he might be here for me to chew him out in person. As it is-"

"As it is, he's been abducted, and we have no idea where he is, or what's happening to him." Steve's steely tone made a muscle in Fury's jaw jump.

"We need to regroup before we start planning a rescue mission, Captain Rogers."

"I disagree. I'm fine, Clint's fine, Natasha's fine. I say we quit worrying about what will be in tomorrow's papers and go look for Tony."

"Oh, of course. I'm being silly. Let's just Google 'Loki's hideout' and get directions." Fury's tone was blistering. "If we knew where Stark has been taken, we would be having a very different conversation. As it is, we're scanning every camera in the tri-state area looking for them. We're sending out teams to monitor every known location that Loki has visited since returning to earth. We're trying to trace Stark's goddamn untraceable cell phone. But if you've got a hunch, don't let me stand in your way."

Steve was silent, his glare falling to the floor. The sick feeling had returned to Clint's gut. After a moment, Fury went on. "Until we figure out where Stark is, we'll focus on the matter at hand. Finish getting patched up, and we'll reconvene in the seventh-floor conference room in a half-hour. Don't leave the building."

Clint's hand hurt, the way it was wrapped around the bow. Tony was in trouble, and they were just going to sit here? But his training kicked in, and he joined the grumbly chorus of "Yes, sir."

* * *

Coulson set a cup of tea on the metal table. Pepper flinched slightly at the sound, but reached for it nonetheless. "Thanks."

"Of course." Coulson smiled a little, a sure sign that something was seriously wrong. Or maybe she just looked that awful. It was hard to tell; the place where a mirror would normally be in the interrogation room was filled instead by a semi-transparent glass, just dark enough to keep the people beyond in shadow. Her reflection was dim, but she could make out limp, waterlogged strands of hair sprawling across her forehead and the blue of the blanket that was wrapped around her shoulders.

"Can't I do anything?" She asked for the tenth time. Her voice cracked on the last syllable, and she cleared her throat. "I just… I need to be on top of this. You know that."

Coulson shook his head for the tenth time. "Sorry. It's-"

"Protocol. I know." She crossed her arms more snugly around her chest, trying not to shiver. Her mind's eye replayed the scene – one Tony in the suit, the other lunging for his throat with a savage snarl-

She purposefully burned her tongue on the tea, taking her mind away from the squirming panic that had rooted itself in her veins.

Coulson was watching her carefully. "Do you need anything else?

She shook her head and mustered a semi-pleasant look. "I'm fine, Phil. Just worried."

He moved to lean on the edge of the table. "I'm sure Tony will be fine, Pepper."

"Fine?" She could hear the hysteria on the fringes of her tone, and she took a deep breath. "He's alone out there, without his armor. Why would he be fine?"

"Actually, Miss Potts," the door to the observation room swung inwards with a hiss, and Pepper sloshed tea on her skirt. "We were hoping you could answer that for us."

Pepper accepted Coulson's handkerchief, sending Fury a frosty look as she dabbed at the steaming stain. "Eavesdropping won't make you any friends, Director Fury."

"That doesn't concern me." Fury clasped his hands behind his back.

"Wait." Pepper's motions slowed as she processed his words. "You think I have answers? Me? You're the ones who've been skulking around, keeping me out of the loop. And while I totally understand why, it means that you can't expect me to know things."

Fury leaned closer. "You mean to tell me that Stark hasn't said a word to you about his house arrest?"

"Of course not. He griped about it plenty. What I'm telling you is that I know nothing about the reasons behind it."

"I don't buy that."

"Well, that's what's true. Tony hasn't said a word."

"And you don't find that odd? I was under the impression that Stark shared everything with you."

Pepper's jaw clenched. "That hasn't been the case for a while."

"How long?"

"A _while_. He's not big on sharing, Director. I'm sure you have that on file somewhere."

Fury eyed her for a long moment, long enough to make Pepper's skin crawl. It was like he was x-raying her thoughts.

"All right." His stare lifted, and he crossed his arms, moving closer to the darkened glass. "New topic. I'm curious about this incident at the conference. You were there the whole time?" He paused, but Pepper didn't respond. It wasn't really a question. "I want to know how you didn't notice that Loki was standing in for your boss of nearly ten years."

She felt her face warm under his scathing tone. "He did a good job of pretending. Are we going to act like that he couldn't fool any of us if he wanted to?"

"Not at all." Fury slid into the chair opposite her and steepled his fingers. "But I'm not talking about any of us – I'm talking about _you_. After all, you've known him much longer than any of the Avengers have known him. Of all the people I would have put on the front lines to identify a fake Tony Stark, you would have been the first choice. Didn't you interact with him before he got up and started blabbing?"

"Yes, I talked to him," Pepper answered curtly. Phil was giving her a cautioning look, but threat of hysteria was looming again, strengthened by the recollections of the conference. "I looked him in the eye, and he fooled me. Nothing was unusual until he got up to make the speech, and even then, I just thought Tony was just going off the cards at a particularly bad time. I didn't figure it out until Tony – the _real_ Tony – called me."

"I find it hard to believe-"

"Well, that's too bad," Pepper snapped. "Because that's what happened. You think that doesn't terrify me? The fact that I _looked into his eyes, and still didn't see it?_" She returned her gaze to Coulson's handkerchief, bunched in her hands. The cheery blue and red plaid had morphed into shades of navy and burgundy. "You're right, Director: I should've been the first to notice. And if he can get me to believe it, what's stopping him from doing what he wants? From infiltrating S.H.I.E.L.D. or killing every one of us?"

"Pepper," Phil tried, but she kept going.

"He trapped me. I was practically glued to the floor, and all I could think was what an absolute _idiot_ I was for not realizing it sooner. You wanted to protect the public from the truth? You wanted to make sure they didn't start running through the streets and lynching each other? You can't even protect yourselves. Right now, Tony is God knows where, _alone_ with Loki, and you're just sitting here." Her hands scrunched the square of fabric, threatening to tear it in two. "God, how can you just _sit there?_"

"Pepper." Phil's hand was heavy on her shoulder. "I know it's stressful, but-"

"But? There's a but?" She looked from one calm face to the other. "No. Tony is out there somewhere, and you're interrogating me because I made a stupid mistake. There is no justification for that. You should be out there, _saving him_."

Fury's eye flicked towards Coulson, the barest hint of a tell. More secrets. Pepper shoved herself away from the table and stood, shaking off Phil's hand. "There's nothing I can say that will help you. You're wasting your time with me. I'm leaving."

"We have more questions-" Fury warned, but Pepper's hand crashed onto the table with a bang that stunned him into silence.

"I don't give a damn. Questions can be answered when Tony is safe."

* * *

"Natasha. Natasha, hang on a minute-" Clint stuck his hand in the crack between the elevator doors, wincing as they closed on a bruise for a moment before springing open again. Inside, the redhead regarded him carefully.

"What?"

He ducked inside, pressing the button to shut the doors. He felt a pang of worry as they closed, doing his best not to think of Loki trapping him in the one at the hospital. Instead, he focused on Natasha; under the harsh fluorescent lights, she looked thin and tired. "Are you okay?"

She sent him a disparaging look. "Don't go soft on me now, Barton."

"I just wanted to make sure. You've been acting off all week, and now with the whole Loki thing…"

Natasha shrugged, leaning past him to press the _7_. "I'm fine."

"Tasha..."

Clint glanced from her stoic face to the camera perched in the corner of the elevator, raising one eyebrow.

She shook her head the tiniest bit, not meeting his eyes. "Don't be stupid."

"Well, how am I supposed to know? You never talk to me anymore, and this thing with Tony has made everyone act weird, but especially you, which is _really_ weird-"

"Clint." She cut him off, facing him dead-on. "Do you trust me?"

He blinked. "Of course."

"Do you trust the team? Captain Rogers, Thor?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I?"

The intensity of her gaze was alarming. "You trust Stark?"

"Yeah, he's my _friend_." The doors began to open, but he jammed his finger in the button to close them again. "What's this about, Tasha?

But she was already shaking her head and pushing past him. "They're just questions, Barton. Make sure Steve gets to the meeting on time."

Then she was gone, and Clint was left to puzzle over her words.

* * *

Stark's mouth was hot on his. The wind dulled the fire of his skin, but it still smoldered under Loki's fingers.

The hands splayed across the nape of Loki's neck and the small of his back were ungentle in their desperation. No, this was a shade deeper than desperation – this was _wanting_. Stark wanted this, wanted him. The thought sent a shudder down Loki's spine, and Stark pressed closer in response. The doubts in his mind were dulled by the wind in his ears and this mortal's infernal warmth. Loki slid a hand across his burning jaw, relishing in Stark's shiver.

The tide of reservations ebbed and surged, deafening one moment and mute the next. _Enough_, it pleaded. _Enough of this madness._ But the taste of Stark was heady, the feel of him intoxicating. There was something almost familiar in the musk, something that tugged at the threads of Loki's memory, something important-

Magic.

Loki ripped himself out of Stark's grip, reeling at the loss and the revelation alike. Magic. Stark reeked of magic.

"Wh-why are you-?" Brown eyes were wide as he struggled for breath. His hair branched out in wild tufts, making him look deceptively young. "Loki…"

"You trick me," Loki spat, furious in equal measure at Stark and at himself for feeling the ache of his absence like a fresh wound.

Stark took a step forward, one hand extended. His expression was open, raw, and Loki cursed him for it. "Loki, I'm-"

"Desist." He towered over Stark, taking satisfaction from the spark of anxiety in his eyes. "Magic clings to you, infuses your blood, and you thought I would not notice?"

It made sense and no sense, all at once. Stark's deception explained his proclaimed caring, his _fascination_, as a simple maneuver to close the distance between them. An excuse to get close enough to damage him. And yet, how did he find the magic? How had he lied so often and so well?

How could he look wholly wounded now?

"Magic? What, from the healing? The cube?" Confusion and hurt were etched into every inch of his face.

Loki disengaged himself and swept away, desperate to escape the lure. The memory of the kiss was mere moments old, and already it pained him, a sick mix of longing and self-loathing. "You bear another's magic. With whom have you consorted? Amora?"

"Who the fuck-? No, I haven't _consorted_ with any… dammit, Loki, look at me-"

His hand alighted on Loki's shoulder, both firm and fragile. He wanted to break it and succumb to it and all it represented.

"Look at me," he repeated, voice harsh as his fingers dug in.

"Why?" Loki whirled, catching Stark's wrist in his hand. His face still held that fiery rawness, as though he had forgotten howto properly mask himself. "You cannot rebury your guilt after it has risen."

"I'm not guilty of anything," Stark snapped.

"Impossible." Loki's grip tightened until he could feel every sinew and bone beneath his fingers and see the shadow of fear cross Stark's face. Only then did he shift so that his hand covered the Gauntlet. "As Master of the Game, I charge you with defiance of the Fourth Rule of the Game. In penance, you shall speak no lies until I return the right to you." The Gauntlet warmed beneath Loki's hand, threatening to scorch him. "Now, tell me, _with whom have you conspired?_"

* * *

His mouth formed the answer almost before he had thought it. "Nobody!"

Loki recoiled at the word, releasing Tony's arm. He stumbled before regaining his balance.

"I don't know about any magic, or conspiring, or anything." He took a cautious step forward. The kiss was still fresh in his mind, like a candle snuffed out, and because of it he felt oddly off-balance. "Loki-"

"Then why are you so imbued with it?" Loki's eyes held a degree of panic and anger that worried Tony more than he would admit.

"I don't _know_, alright? I haven't done jack-shit with magic aside from you healing me." He took another step and gripped a handful of Loki's sleeve when he tried to recede. "If I can't lie, then you have to believe me."

Loki stared down at him, unmoving. His eyes were overly bright, as though they were backlit by blinding light within. Tony held still, waiting for judgment. He only flinched a little when his hand was lifted to Loki's face. For a moment, Tony thought he would kiss it, but instead he whispered words that the wind blew away.

A ragged gasp forced its way out of Tony's throat as his fingertips filled with a pins-and-needles feeling so intense that it were almost painful. "What are you-?"

"You have been marked by a Summoning Seal."

Tony gaped at his own hand as Loki turned it over- the pads of his fingers were stained a deep burgundy, like almost-dry blood or wine.

"Someone has branded you, Stark." Loki said, his voice cold. "And if you are truly unaware of it, then you are an unwitting pawn, but a pawn nonetheless."

"What, so someone's using me? That's impossible. No one knows about the Game except for you, me, Thor…"

"The Game?" Loki released his hand and turned, moving back a few paces. His expression was closed. "This has nothing to do with the Game."

Tony waited for him to say more, to explain, but no words came. He looked down at his own hand, at the smears of red that were melting away too slowly. _Branded_. Tony swallowed hard, and asked, "So what, then?"

Loki didn't even look at him.

"Hey. I'm not a mind-reader. What does this mean?" He waved his stained, prickling hand. "Is it… permanent? Can we get rid of it?"

Tony fell silent as Loki glanced up at him, but when he spoke, he acted as though he hadn't heard a thing. "I must leave you now. The following Juncture-"

"_Leave?_ You can't leave after… after what just happened!"

Loki regarded him coolly, in a way that made Tony feel shrunken. "Do you speak of my spontaneous interrogation, or what preceded it?"

The Gauntlet warmed, forcing honesty. "Both." His tongue burned.

"In either case, I am not required to answer your questions or demands. Nothing has _changed_, Stark."

His tone was rich with scorn and ice, but then he undermined every word as he took a step back. A retreat.

Tony was all too familiar with retreating. Retreating was easy. It was slinking away and licking wounds and ignoring thoughts that buzzed and swarmed at the outermost fringes of his thoughts. And in past years, Tony had liked it that way. Withdrawing meant that the other person had to come looking, like in some grown-up game of hide and seek. And by seeking, the other person became vulnerable. Pepper had been exceedingly good at that, only failing once Tony truly didn't want to be found.

But Loki…

Tony stared at the narrow eyes and the kiss-darkened lips that were slowly, surely twisting into a snarl. Loki wasn't a seeker. He was a retreater, just like Tony. He would go away and bury the kiss under a mountain of lies if Tony let him walk away now.

"That's not true." Tony moved closer, one step at a time. "We crossed a line just now, and you know it. There's no going back. Even if there was, you're nuts if you think I'll let you ignore this." He was unsure if he was talking about the kiss or the marks that marred his fingers. They still tingled ominously.

Loki shook his head slowly, and low laughter carried over the sobs of the wind. "I thought you many things, Stark, but never naïve. Please, show me this great change of which you speak_._ I've yet to see it."

Tony felt the condescension like a slap. "You _kissed _me."

Green eyes flickered. "And what does that alter? You and I are not allies." A dark, malicious smile grew on his lips, and Tony felt like they had regressed a full year, and this was the Loki from the cage on the helicarrier. "Or did you think that your kiss would reform me? Eradicate the darkness from my heart?" His grin grew. "Did you envision the pair of us fighting shoulder to shoulder among your fellows?"

That stung. Not because he _had_ thought about it, but because Loki spoke of it with wholehearted disgust and malice. Tony could hear the word _never_ lurking just out of earshot. "After what you've done? Not remotely. I just assumed that you wouldn't freeze up on me every two seconds, maybe tell the truth once in a while."

"Assumptions are the creations of fools. You distrust me, Stark, and I distrust you in return. That has yet to change."

Tony bristled. "So, what, we go back to every other word out of your mouth being a lie? No. I want you to quit acting like this and tell me what's going on. Tell me about _this._" He stretched out his hand, where smudges of red still showed.

"Do not concern yourself with that."

"Don't-? I'm sorry, do you think I'm going to sit back and pretend that you didn't just have a freak-out over whatever the hell this is?"

Loki waved a casual hand, expression mocking. "It is a trivial obstacle, nothing more."

"Bullshit." At Loki's deprecating look, Tony pressed on. "You might think that you're untouchable when you lie like that, but I know you better. You're _scared_-"

"You _know_ _me_ _better?_" Loki threw back his head and laughed, high and sharp. "You know nothing of me. I am indefinable, Stark. You claim to have caught a glimpse, and therefore you have witnessed all that there is to uncover. In all actuality, it is what you have seen that blinds you from the truth of my nature."

"And what's that?"

But Loki shook his head, mouth twisted and eyes narrowed to slits. "It is not for you to know."

"I want to."

"False-"

"I can't lie until you let me," Tony interrupted, and Loki went rigid. "_I want to know you._"

"It is a falsehood, though you believe it to be truth," Loki spat. "You do not wish this upon yourself. Better to endure the torture of your own ignorance than to bear the burden of knowing what makes up my being. Satisfying your curiosity, your _fascination_, is not worth that."

The wind whistled after Loki finished. Tony couldn't take his eyes off of him as the silence stretched between them.

"You must really hate yourself."

Loki flinched with his entire body, rocking back. His eyes were wide and furious.

"I mean, it makes sense. You protect yourself because you don't want to get hurt, and because you don't want people to see who you really are. That's why you think it's so impossible for me to like you."

Tony braced himself for denials. Instead, Loki loosed a bitter laugh. "Kindred spirits, we are."

Tony faltered, taken aback. Before he could form a response, Loki had taken the helm again. "I have noticed you as well, Stark. You are a solitary creature, driven to prove yourself by enduring alone." He advanced, eyes glittering.

"That's-" The wolf mask from the zoo Challenge resurfaced in his mind, and he felt cold. _Lone wolf_. "That's not-"

Magic stilled his tongue, and Loki's teeth gleamed as he smirked. "Is it not? From the beginning, I saw a difference that set you apart from your fellows. Carelessness in your manner, both in and out of battle. I assumed it to be mere arrogance, but then I looked deeper. The way you _leap_ at the chance to play hero. How little regard you hold for your own life. The way you layer mask after mask to shield your true self." Loki was close enough to touch. Horror and wanting tangoed in Tony's stomach. "You are nearly as _ashamed_ of your identity as I am of mine. It is only the matter of _why_ that eludes me yet."

Tony couldn't move, pinned in place by Loki's vicious stare. There was satisfaction there, and malice, and the tiniest bit of something hurt and small.

Tony's mouth fell open, ready to reject every word, but something stopped him. Loki had done a damn good job tearing him apart. He had paid attention, more than Pepper or Steve or Clint, and even though the truths were designed to hurt (and they did, like tiny razors burrowing into his stomach), the fact that Loki had looked so closely at his life _meant_ something. The urge to lash out crumbled to ash, and the violent words died on Tony's tongue.

"Why look deeper?"

Loki managed to look superior and confused at the same time. "What?"

"You looked deeper." Tony's hand closed on Loki's arm, rooting him. "_Why?_"

Loki scowled, and Tony felt him begin to pull back, out of his grip. His hand tightened. Loki's murderous gaze held an imploring tint. "I fail to see the relevance of-"

"No, you don't. If you can see all of that, then you see the relevance just fine."

His voice cracked out, whip-sharp as his eyes blazed. "It means nothing. _You _mean nothing-"

Tony surged onto his toes, covering Loki's mouth with his own with just enough pressure to stop the ugly words. Loki was unyielding against him, but when Tony pulled back, his eyes were closed. His face was cold, remote, lined He let out a gusting breath that was somewhere between a sob and a sigh. "You aspire to understand that which you never can, Stark."

"I can if you help me." Loki's eyes opened as his face twisted into disbelief, and Tony rushed on. "You tried to understand me. Why is it so wrong for me to do the same?"

"We are different."

"Not from what you just said. Masks? Shame? And now we're chasing each other in circles, trying to figure each other out. If you're right, then we've got plenty in common." Loki made a scoffing sound, but Tony ignored it. "What are you so afraid of? What's so awful about understanding each other?"

He shook his head slowly, but the motion was devoid of the earlier mockery. A little of the fight had gone out of Loki's stance. "You cannot honestly believe it to be so simple an undertaking."

Tony shrugged, feeling a wry smile tug at his mouth. "It probably wouldn't be."

There was a hesitation. A beat. A moment. For one full second, Tony saw the _longing _in Loki's eyes, pure and desperate and powerful. For one full second, Tony felt hope stir in his chest.

Then the bars came down, blocking all emotion from Loki's face, and Tony found himself staring into a mask.

"Naïveté does not suit you, Stark." He took a step back, and the wind's sudden chill cut Tony down to the bone. "I shall contact you in two days' time."

"Loki, _wait_-"

He lunged as Loki withdrew; his fingers skated across metal.

Tony let out a shout of horror as blackness swamped his senses. His limbs flailed- there was nothing beneath his fingers, nothing under his feet, nothing anchoring him, he was _falling_.

The scream vibrated his bones, near and loud and monstrous. He fell faster as it reverberated, reached a crescendo; something knifed past his leg, slicing, roaring-

And a hand gripped his wrist, grinding the bones together, dragging him up.

Color and light blinded him as he hit the ground, sweating and shaking. The ceiling of the workshop stared him in the face for a split-second before nausea overwhelmed him, and he rolled onto his hands and knees. Acid burned his throat as he spat out the last of the morning's coffee, leaving hollow. The silence of the lab echoed with the remnants of the roar. That inhuman roar. Nausea rose again, and he retched for another minute.

"L-Loki?" He pushed himself upright, swaying as the room tilted. He dug his fingers into his pocket, and the charm scorched his fingertips and eased the roiling of his stomach simultaneously. There was no sign of Loki.

A numb sensation in his leg stole his attention from the pangs in his chest. The fabric of his trousers was sliced on the right side from outer thigh to ankle, and a stripe of pure, almost withered white skin ran along the length of his leg. He stared at the mark, reliving the fall through the darkness. There was something in there. Something in that chasm had done this to him.

JARVIS interrupted the beginnings of his panic attack.

_Sir? There are agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. upstairs. Shall I alert them to your presence?_

"Agents?" Tony touched the discoloration hesitantly, transfixed by the horrifying chill of the skin.

_Yes, Sir. Shall I-?_

"No, I'll…. I'll be up in a while." He tried to push himself to his feet, but his muscles were nonexistent; one wrist gave out entirely. A red, long-fingered handprint wrapped around the limb, already turning to a blotchy purple. Tony bit back the tide of frustration - once, just once, he'd like to walk away unscathed. "Once I can get up, anyway."

* * *

Icy sweat dripped down the bridge of Loki's nose as he braced himself against the wall of his bedroom. Panic, sheer panic had overwhelmed him the instant Stark had followed him into the Between, into the realm of the Beast. The roar lingered in Loki's ears. Stark's face swam in his mind's eye, framed by blackness.

He was branded by a Seal. He was injured. What's worse: he had no intentions of giving up his mad quest.

Loki buried his face in his hands, horrified at their trembling.

"You fool," he whispered into the silence. The words were weighty as they settled into the gloom of the air, echoing alongside the roar. Stark, a fool for searching. Loki, a fool for allowing himself to be found.

* * *

Amora whirled to face the east. Her lips parted, teeth bared in a feral grin. "Did you hear it, Skurge?"

The hulking man looked around in confusion. "Hear what?"

Her laugh was high and breathy. "The scream."

Skurge's meaty brow folded as he frowned. "Scream?"

"The monster's scream. Oh, he is near, he is very near…" Her eyes gleamed.

He shuffled his feet and fingered the handle of the ax, eyes darting left and right as though he expected the thing to jump out at them. "Will we catch him?"

Amora nodded slowly, still staring into the distance. "I must rest. The activation of Odin's Seal will be draining." Her grin widened further. "But then we shall have what we seek."

* * *

Steve shifted the ice pack on his wrists, trying to ease as much of the sting as he could. The guilt was a worse sort of pain, though – Tony was God-knows-where with the God of Mischief for company. And what was he doing to help? He was stuck in the infirmary, waiting for news. He, as well as the other Avengers, was totally helpless. It reminded him horribly of the time before he became "Captain America," when the army had turned him away time after time.

And what's worse, the last thing he had said to Tony had been an accusation. Something about a piece of mail, for goodness' sake. And now he was gone.

Thor stirred in the bed, providing a distraction. Steve slid from the counter and took one of the chairs instead just as his visible eye opened.

"Welcome back." Steve produced as real a smile as he could maintain.

Thor blinked balefully and opened his mouth, only to frown. His eye filled with confusion, then hurt.

"The doctors don't know what's wrong with your voice," Steve tried, but Thor only nodded a little, as if to say, _I know_. "I've got pen and paper if you want…?"

Another nod. Steve handed them over and craned his neck to see what was being written.

Thor hesitated at first, but a word soon appeared in surprisingly neat print:

_Loki?_

The lump resurfaced in Steve's throat. "We don't know where he is."

Thor's mouth tightened, and Steve tried not to look away from the sadness in his eye. Another word:

_Tony?_

"He's…" Steve's voice wavered, and he cleared his throat. "He's with Loki. Somewhere. We don't know how to find them."

Thor's eyebrows pulled together. There was fear in his expression. There was a lengthy pause, and the pen touched the paper a third time.

_My brother is playing-_

He stopped. Steve gave him a questioning look. Thor seemed to consider the words thoroughly, and then scratched them out with a forcefulness that was almost violent. Below the dark thicket of marks, he wrote:

_Poptarts?_

* * *

Tony fumbled to reach the button for the elevator from his position on his hands and knees. His entire body shook, still convinced that he was trapped in the void with that _thing_. All he wanted to do was curl up on the floor and sleep, or maybe drink himself into a coma. But instead, he crawled into the elevator when it arrived, pressing the _G_ and slouching against the wall.

Everything was such a fucking _mess_.

He found himself rubbing his fingers together as he ascended, searching for a trace of the red stain that had faded since the rooftop. A Seal. What did that mean, a Seal? How had he gotten one?

"These are the things I need to know, Loki," he muttered to thin air. He was tempted to use the Gauntlet right then and there and try to get answers, but he doubted Loki would appreciate his hand being forced.

The doors slid open in the kitchen, and Tony froze, staring up at the barrels of seven handguns. "Whoa, take it easy, I'm-"

There was a pinch in his leg. He gaped at the little blue dart as hands closed on his arms, pulling his numbing body onto the kitchen floor and pressing his face into the tiles. Tony struggled to breathe and speak as blackness edged into the corners of his vision and panic set in, because there were monsters in the black.

"Take him to headquarters. No surprises."

Kidnappers, Tony thought for one gut-wrenching moment. Terrorists. HYDRA. The Ten Rings.

Then, just before his vision failed completely, he caught a glimpse of the eagle emblem on a jacket pocket, with the letters S-H-I-E-L-D emblazoned across the top.

* * *

**Chapter 20 may be helpful if things don't make sense. Questions are welcome.**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep.**


	33. Chapter 33

**Okay. I suck. I know this, and I'm sorry. I don't deserve you guys.**

**But hey- longest chapter ever!**

**First, some brief orders of business:**

**1. I finally got a tumblr! The name is OperationBlackSheep, just like my penname. Feel free to mosey on down and say hi.**

**2. More artwork! This time by the amazing Elkiz. The links are on my page! Go look!**

**3. There were some concerns about the drabble I posted taking precedence over Dominoes. This will never, ever, ever happen. It's just the occasional for-fun thing.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Warning: _Slight trigger warning._**

* * *

"This must mean something," Natasha murmured, eyeing the clock. "Fury is never late."

Steve crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at the table. "Maybe they found Tony."

"Maybe Tony shot Loki in the face and set him on fire," Clint said under his breath, only half-joking. It was a nice mental image.

The three of them sat around the conference table in a little cluster. The other end of the table seemed to stretch out infinitely due to the lack of Avengers. Clint had to remind himself that Thor was just downstairs, confined to the clinic until his arm got an all-clear, and that Fury was just off investigating something or other.

And Tony…

"Fury could be figuring out how all of this happened," Natasha offered rationally. Clint felt grateful for the interruption of his train of thought. "How Loki set the traps."

"If he was, he'd be here, asking us. You know, since we were the ones who got trapped." Clint slumped a little lower in his chair, fingering the handle of his bow. "Besides, there's not a whole lot to figure out. All it takes is a phone call from Janet Somebody and a fake entry on the calendar, and Thor and I trip over ourselves getting to the hospital. And Steve met a guy at the bar who invited him to some fake function-"

"He sent a letter, too," Steve grumbled, looking both guilty and sick to his stomach.

"Like that changes anything. What're we gonna do, stop answering the phone and checking the mailbox? Stop going to _bars?_"

"We could analyze his actions, find a pattern-"

"A _pattern?_ Come on, Natasha. Loki can't be analyzed. He's insane, and he managed to fuck with our heads. He got all of us out of the way and managed to make us look guilty as fuck while he was at it. All we can do is find him and kick the living shit out of him."

"Something that might be a bit difficult," Fury remarked as he entered, "considering the fact that he had you and Thor on the ground and paralyzed in just under thirty seconds. At least, that's if the footage from the elevator is anything to go by."

"He took us by surprise," Clint muttered. Fury's disdain made his hackles rise.

"How else will he ever initiate an attack? He certainly hasn't been giving two days' notice before he sets you up for a fall."

Clint glowered at the tabletop, but didn't – _couldn't_ – contest that. Hadn't Fury respected him once, not terribly long ago? Natasha sent him a reprimanding look, but he ignored her as Fury slowly paced into the room with measured steps.

"And yet, after devising such clever little traps the three of you, he nabbed Agent Romanoff from her room at the Mansion. Why?" A dark eye appraised them, waiting.

"It's a message," Natasha answered quietly. "It doesn't matter how careful we are. He can get us from anywhere, any time. He only lays traps because it's fun."

A heavy silence descended, pressing on Clint's eardrums. It wasn't new information by any means, but coming from Natasha in such grave tones, it sounded almost like a prophecy.

"A definite possibility," Fury nodded once, and the motion seemed to restart their hearts. Steve's arms crossed as he shifted in his seat, brows drawing together. Natasha's eyes flicked to the envelope before she turned her head to one side with a sigh.

Clint's fingers shifted to touch the bow at his shoulder, muttering, "Now what?"

The director raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for elaboration, and Clint shrugged. The motion pulled at strained muscles and bruises, and he withheld a grimace. "We've covered what's happened. You got a plan?"

"I have six," Fury responded crisply, clasping his hands behind his back and glancing at the clock that hung above the door. "And I will pick one once Stark wakes up."

Steve started and made a small sound of confusion as Clint's mouth dropped open. Natasha was the only one who maintained the ability to speak. "I'm sorry, did you say-?"

He nodded again. "Agents found him in the elevator of the Mansion, covered in bruises and pale as a sheet."

"And unconscious?" Steve interjected worriedly.

"No. We did that."

The silence rose, and Clint found his voice first. "You mean you _knocked him out?_"

"You forget that Loki did a better-than-average Stark impersonation earlier today. Every agent was under orders to drug anything that walked, talked, or drank like Tony Stark. Loki can fake unconsciousness, but he won't know exactly when Stark would wake up from being infected by a specific poison."

"So if he wakes up at the right time, it's Tony," Steve said slowly.

"Exactly."

"And if he doesn't? The fuck are we supposed to do then?" Clint could hear the venom in his voice, but it was difficult to contain. Fury was acting like he hadn't just crossed a line into the realm of recklessness and cruelty, and it grated against Clint's own instincts as an agent.

Fury looked grim as he paced. "We have a few possibilities in mind." At the expectant gazes of the threesome, he went on. "Containing Loki has proved to be near-impossible in the past, so we go on the offensive. My personal preference is that we detonate a half-ton of explosives in his containment cell, but it's difficult to do that while still being sneaky. So we're moving forward with the assumption that we'll pick Plan B."

"Which is?" Clint asked. Natasha glared at him for not being a good little soldier and waiting to be told.

"We lock Loki in the cell with an old friend." His gaze flicked up to the clock again. "He's flying to New York as we speak."

* * *

Pepper stepped out of the cab, ducking her head to avoid the swarm of paparazzi left over from the conference. The guards manning the yellow tape gave her a doubtful look, but the agent accompanying her flashed his ID, and they were admitted.

The room was just as she'd left it – waterlogged, full of overturned chairs and ugly memories. Pepper shivered, and the agent – Todd, he'd said – sent her a look that insinuated how inappropriate her presence was to him. She ignored him, clutching a black folder closer to her chest. Coulson had signed something inside and assured her that no one would contest her claim for her and Tony's belongings – especially the armor.

It was covered in a sheet, looking for all the world like a bulky, flat-faced corpse. She straightened her shoulders, determined to hide the tremor in her limbs. "All right, let's load the suit onto a stretcher so we can get it out of the building safely. We'll need at least four agents to lift it, maybe more."

Agent Todd gave a sullen nod before turning away and touching a hand to whatever communications device had stowed away in his ear. As he muttered her instructions to an invisible third party, Pepper stepped further into the room, drawn towards the podium. The room was totally devoid of agents, and though there were traces of them, she had no doubt that they had covered every inch of ground looking for any and all clues.

Abruptly, Tony's words from earlier rose in her mind.

_Clues. No clues. So much for playing fair, huh?_

Pepper frowned, trying to remember what had prompted the statement. Clues, games, rules. Nothing had made sense. The more she thought about it, the colder she felt. A chill seemed to settle along the tops of her shoulders like snow. Something was going on with Tony, something to do with the destruction in his lab and the guarded gleam in his eye.

She would have demanded answers if he wasn't… elsewhere. (Even inside her head, she refused to use "missing" or "gone" or "taken" because this way, she could pretend that he wasn't any of those things. Even just for the time being.)

She stretched out a hand to touch the podium. Beads of water glossed its surface, reflecting bits of the wall, the chandeliers, the white rectangle in the corner….

Pepper's gaze jerked upwards as her thoughts derailed entirely. The sheet. The painting. _Livy's painting._

"Oh, God." She dashed over, almost stumbling over a fallen chair as she knelt and lifted the fabric away from the easel. It came away smeared with color. "Oh, _God_."

She stared, horror-struck. Where two glorious ravens had once preened, black feathers throwing back every color imaginable, there were now only abstract hints of wings and mushy colors.

Ruined.

For the hundredth time that day, panic rose in her chest. Only this time, it wasn't an awful, crushing, numbing panic that made her breaths taste like copper and her heart pound hard enough to break a rib. This, she was equipped to handle.

Even so, the thought of Livy's trusting face made her chest tighten.

Pepper closed her eyes tightly and counted to ten, concentrating on keeping the hysteria at arm's length. Then she counted to twenty.

Once she was sure her voice would come out steady, she called for Agent Todd. "I need you to call down to the police and have them allow a moving van through so that we can transport this and the armor," she said to him, hauling the sheet off of the easel and letting it fall to the floor.

Agent Todd's sour expression weakened slightly in the face of her stern glare, as though her capability surprised him. He nodded after a minute hesitation, turning away to mutter into his earbud.

Swallowing her dread, Pepper dug into her pocket for her phone. Glitches fuzzed the display every few seconds, but they didn't stop her from finding the number in her contacts and dialing. It rang endlessly, on and on, before finally going to an automated voicemail. Pepper tried not to feel relieved, but at the same time, a pebble of worry dropped into her stomach. She hoped Livy had gotten home safely.

Agent Todd tapped her on the shoulder. "We're ready to leave when you are." Two agents moved past them to the painting, where they lifted the easel as though it was made of cardboard.

"Good," She responded, facing him. "I just need another second, I'm looking for a briefcase… there." Pepper moved around him and knelt to pull it out from under the table. The leather was still damp, and she grimaced as she pulled it open. Moist papers greeted her, along with something she hadn't seen before. She pulled it out and frowned – it was completely dry.

Agent Todd stood beside her, waiting impatiently as she got to her feet and ran her thumb over the embossed words on the book's cover.

_The Game_, it read.

* * *

Skurge hovered as Amora dug her knife into the hard-packed dirt, scraping and shaping the indentations that she made. Her hands were raw from the work, and every so often she would let out a strangled curse.

"Amora," Skurge rumbled hesitantly. "Might I-"

"_No_," She hissed, digging into the ground with unbridled ferocity. "This. Requires. _Delicacy._" She punctuated each word with another, more vicious stab. "Without marking stones, this is the only way."

"Perhaps you could use magic?" Skurge offered, only to shrink away from the acidic glare she sent him.

"Magic cannot be used to prepare runes. It invites disaster. Now be _silent_."

Skurge acquiesced and settled for watching as the runes slowly took shape on the floor.

* * *

Loki pressed the marking stone to the table, sketching with a quick, careful determination. So far, a circle of black had formed and thickened, and now he added chains of runes crisscrossing the center.

It was a spell he had performed hundreds, thousands of times in the first month after his descent into Midgard. It sought out magic, any magic, within the scope of his power. He had abandoned the method eventually after it had failed time and time again.

But it would not fail him today. Not with Amora nearby: it would point him in her direction without hesitation.

Though Loki hardly ever favored immediate action over planning, he abhorred the thought of being still. It was as if he could see the noose around his neck, inching closer and drawing tighter with every passing minute. And now there was a noose around Stark's neck, too, one that had managed to slip over his head without catching Loki's attention.

But thinking of Stark brought thoughts of the rooftop, and the words, and Stark's touch, and such distractions would do him no good. He focused his attention on the runes, knitting them together and adding more in neat cables through the middle.

Skurge posed little threat; Loki's staff leaned against the table beside him, ready for his touch and command. He would have Amora's knowledge whether or not he had to eliminate her companion beforehand, and no matter how much he had to damage her before he got it.

* * *

The monitors in the seventh-floor security center offered a greyscale picture from Tony's holding cell, which had been outfitted in medical equipment and a bed from the clinic. The picture was crystal-clear, to the point where Steve could have counted the wrinkles left by the iron bands stretching across Tony's unmoving body.

The second person onscreen took a seat hesitantly, glancing once at the lens before crossing his legs and settling in to wait.

"And you ran this by Thor?" Steve's jaw was set, and his arms wound tightly across his chest. "Because 'beat Loki to death' doesn't really sound like his kind of solution."

Fury's eye was cold. "I got the impression that he wasn't in a position to answer any questions."

"Still, I don't think-"

"You don't think _what?_ That we should take this opportunity if we have it?"

"But what if you kill him?" Steve leaned forward. "You remember what happened last time. What if he dies, and Thor goes berserk? Loki is has done monstrous things, but Thor loves him and will fight each and every one of us if he thinks we're planning on using deadly force. _And,_" he cut off Fury's attempt at an interruption, "that's assuming you guess right when you say it's Loki. You could very well smash Tony to smithereens. I'm just as tired of these mind games as you are, but we need to make sure that we're still a team at the end of this."

Fury was quiet for a moment. Steve could feel Natasha and Clint's gazes resting on his face.

"All are valid points, Captain Rogers. Unfortunately, I disagree with many of them. I'm not taking any chances with this one, and if that means disagreeing with your overactive moral compass, well, I'll just have to find a way to sleep at night."

"But Thor-"

"Has a conflict of interest. Besides, however much I would like it, this won't kill Loki. If we're lucky, it'll lower his stamina." Fury didn't look at him. "If that bothers you, Captain, you know the way out."

Steve bit his tongue against a rebuttal, instead nodding once and heading for the door. No one called after him; though, after the door closed, he heard Clint's voice rise in some sort of indignant comment. Steve hoped he was telling Fury what a horrible idea this was.

Before he could decide where he was going, Steve found himself in the elevator with his finger on B1, the level of the clinic. He pressed the button.

* * *

"Go after him," Fury said to Natasha. "Don't let him… well, don't let him do anything you wouldn't do."

She nodded once and was gone.

* * *

"Hey, there," Entering the clinic, Steve smiled when he saw Thor's open eye. "How are you feeling?"

Thor shrugged, but returned the smile. Faced with his innocent gaze, Steve suddenly balked. What was he doing? Any explanation of the updates would only upset Thor. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he thought it was best not to mention most of what Fury had planned.

Thor was still looking at him expectantly. Steve cleared his throat, making a few quick decisions. "Good news. We found Tony." (He hoped.)

He sat up quickly, a look of surprise on his face. His mouth moved soundlessly before he remembered his predicament and reached for the pen and paper that rested on his bedside table. Steve moved closer to see the words.

_Is he well?_

"Uh. More or less. A few bruises and a possible concussion, but he'll be fine." Steve thought it best not to mention the whole drugging-thing, either.

_And Loki?_

He shook his head. "No sign. Sorry," he added automatically as Thor's shoulders drooped.

_I must speak with- _

His enormous brow scrunched, and he crossed out the words, replacing them with:

_I must see Tony._

Steve swallowed. "I'm not sure if that's such a-"

Thor scowled and wrote again, causing Steve to fall silent and wait.

_As the brother of Loki, it is my responsibility to investigate his actions. _

"You're hurt. Let Director Fury do the investigating this time around."

Thor shook his head so forcefully that Steve thought he would dislodge his eye patch. _If you deny me this out of fear for my health, I assure you_

"No, no, it's Tony we're worried about- not health-wise!" Steve rushed the last bit as Thor's eye went wide. "He'll be fine, really, it's just… Fury wants to make sure that Tony is actually Tony."

The god's pen flew across the page, and the writing that Steve bent to read was slanted and scraggly with haste. _Surely I am best suited to see through the trickery or deception of my brother? I must see him. Lead me there._

"'Lead me there,'" Steve murmured aloud as he read, then barely got up his hands in time to push Thor back onto his pillows as he tried to move from his bed. "No, I can't, Fury's orders-"

Thor's face was murderous as he drew himself up, emitting power even in his hospital gown. For one tiny second, Steve was grateful the man was mute – this way, he couldn't bellow at him. The pen made it through three words before splintering under the force of Thor's hand. Steve scrambled for another one, avoiding the one-eyed glare as he handed it over.

_I care not for the orders of Director Fury. I can be of use to him in this instance, though only if you allow me._

"Thor…" Steve trailed off with a sigh. Why didn't you see through Loki's trick in the hospital, he wanted to ask. Why did he beat you?

But the single, imploring blue eye silenced him. Rogers rubbed his forehead, trying to halt the budding ache. "Okay, look. I'll radio Fury once Tony wakes up- he's sleeping," Steve added by way of explanation, though he felt a pang of guilt for the relief on Thor's face, "but once he wakes up, I'll see if Fury will let you in. But I can't promise anything."

_I am grateful for any effort on your part._

Steve forced a smile. "Of course. Happy to help." He cleared his throat. "You, uh… you should try to get some rest. Heal up."

_You will rouse me when Tony wakes?_

"Sure thing." He backed out of the room as Thor nodded his thanks and set the pen and paper aside, closing his eye.

Once he was safely in the hallway and the door to Thor's room was closed, Steve slid into one of the chairs and sighed. Somehow, he felt ten times worse than he had when he had gone in.

"Feeling better?"

He jumped a little, twisting to look over his shoulder. Natasha stood over him, a wry, calculating look on her face.

"Sure, let's go with that." Steve faced forward again, slumping. After a moment, she moved around his chair to sit beside him, crossing her legs neatly. There was something expectant about the silence, and Steve fidgeted for a moment before saying, "I didn't tell-"

"I know. I listened."

Steve turned to glower at her. "You should have just come in. Eavesdropping is for enemies." She didn't respond right away, and he added, "Unless you don't trust me, in which case-"

"I trust you just fine, Captain." Her eyes pinned him. "It's your heart I'm wary of. Too big, with too much capacity for sympathy. It'll get you into trouble."

"Maybe it will get other people out of trouble," he retorted, trying to decide whether or not that was a complement.

"Perhaps. Or maybe it will just skew your perception until you can't decide who deserves your help in the first place." Natasha raised a hand as he opened his mouth to protest. "I'm not saying that you can't make the call when needed. But standing up for Loki won't earn you any favors."

"I'm standing up for our team," Steve snapped. "Does that mean my judgment is impaired?"

"No. It just means you're… still a little too old-fashioned." Natasha stood, apparently ignorant of Steve's flinch at her words. "Loki's death will save lives. If you have a problem with that plan, then your judgment may be a little out of alignment with the rest of ours."

"Natasha," Steve leaned forward, beseeching her. "Thor is our friend and our teammate. We shouldn't go behind his back."

There was coldness in her face. With a start, Steve recognized the same steely glint in her eyes that always persisted in Fury's.

"Careful, Captain. Your heart is showing."

* * *

Tony first became aware of the tremendous darkness that immersed him. His eyes struggled to open, to banish it, but the lids were stuck fast, as though sewn or glued or padlocked. Each breath came more rapidly than the last, laced with disinfectant. Something nearby let out a chain of soft, quickening beeps.

From within the recesses of Tony's memory, something roared.

Panic tore his eyes open, and the light blinded him. He turned his head to one side, tears budding at the corners of his eyes as he blinked ferociously against the searing whiteness. Everything around him seemed to rush in at once – the scratch of an unfamiliar pillowcase against his cheek, the sour taste in his mouth, the murmur of machinery that grated against the throbbing in his head.

His gaze focused sluggishly on the digital clock beside him, but his progress was spoiled as someone moved into his narrow line of sight. Tony squinted, blinking twice, but everything retained a slight fuzz, and he couldn't identify the silhouette. "Hey," he croaked warily. His throat felt cracked and sore.

The voice greeted him was unidentifiable at this point, yet familiar enough to lend some comfort. "Tony. You've looked better."

"I'll bet." The words were followed by a shuddery cough that burned his throat.

"Water?" The person asked, already standing.

"Only if there's no scotch," Tony grumbled, but each word was more painful than the last. He didn't protest when the rim of a plastic cup pressed against his lips. The water tasted metallic, but Tony could've downed the whole thing and then some if Bruce hadn't pulled it away.

Bruce.

Tony would have jerked halfway into a sitting position if the restraints hadn't forced him back down. His head hit the pillow as a hundred sore muscles protested at once, and his vision threatened to start spinning. He closed his eyes tightly before reopening them to stare. This time, the room was clear. Bruce offered his small, grim smile.

"I was wondering how awake you really were."

"Jeez, Bruce…" Tony shook his head, heart pounding from the shock. "You're here. You're in New York. And I'm…" He swallowed, craning his neck in vain attempt to see what held him in place. Something metallic glinted at him. "I don't remember picking a safe word."

"Fury wanted to be cautious."

"Cautious about what? Why are you here? What the hell did I miss?" Tony's headache surged as the beeping of the monitor sped up. His memories were swathed in gauze and cobwebs, but he was aware enough to recognize that something was very wrong.

"Deep breaths, Tony." Bruce took a step closer, looking cagey. "You were out for only five hours. The effects will persist for one or two more."

"Effects? Effects of what?" The image of a blue dart swam to the surface of his thoughts. "God, did they _drug me?_"

"Fury said it was a test," Bruce responded calmly despite the rising pitch of Tony's words. He offered the water again, and after a paranoid pause (they drugged him once…), Tony tilted his head up as best he could to accept it. "After what happened at the conference, he didn't want to take any chances. S.H.I.E.L.D. calculated how long you would be out based on the dose and your body weight. You woke up right on time."

Tony closed his eyes for a moment, trying to find the logic in those words that lingered just out of his reach. "So if I hadn't woken up just now…?"

Bruce gave a grim smile. "That's why I was bought back. From Fury's point of view, I've got the best rack record when it comes to Loki."

Loki.

The monitor's bleating rebounded as the answers flooded Tony's mind. Clint's distress call. The doppelganger. The rooftop, the yelling, the kiss-

The _kiss._

Tony's stomach gave a pang that was somewhere between wistfulness and nausea as he thought back. One second had been perfection, and the next they had been further apart than ever. Loki's wild-eyed stare as he accused Tony of conspiring, his ferocity as Tony retaliated with words. Then the moment of yearning, of possibility, just before the blackness took hold. Just before the monster took hold.

"Tony?"

"Yeah." Realizing that Bruce was gazing at him curiously from behind his glasses, Tony did his best to formulate an answer instead of having a breakdown. "I guess you've got a better shot than the rest of us."

Bruce eyed him a moment longer before nodding. "Probably. Not that I was thrilled to be called in; I'm almost six months without incident."

"Hey, that's great!" Tony smiled, grateful for the diversion of conversation. He didn't want to talk about Loki (or think about Loki, or obsess about Loki...). "No exploding toasters in Nicaragua?"

"Guatemala," Bruce corrected. "And no. Not so far."

"Good." Tony took a second look at Bruce. His skin was tan, and the circles under his eyes seemed smaller than the last time he'd seen the man. "Sorry Fury dragged you away on my account."

He shrugged, expression softening. "That's okay. I'm an Avenger first and foremost, I suppose."

"I suppose." Tony tried to sit up, and the restraints pressed him back down. Through the blankets, they felt like steel bands. He grimaced as one of them put pressure on an aching wrist. "Hey, since I passed Fury's test and all, d'you think you could get me out of this thing?"

"_I_ can't. But they know you're awake now, so someone should be down before too long with a key." He glanced at the camera perched in the corner of the room. "I think."

Tony watched him as he settled himself in his chair (partially because there was nothing else to look at in the whitewashed room). Bruce tapped one fingertip against his knee, and his jaw was tight. Something else was wrong.

"Did… did Fury brief you on what's been going on?"

Brown eyes landed on him, uncertainty clear within them. "Yes, he gave me a handout," he lifted a black folder from the table to show Tony the S.H.I.E.L.D logo. "How was house arrest?"

"Hell," Tony muttered, thinking back to the chaos of tiptoeing around the Mansion and teleporting more than was strictly necessary.

"I guessed it would be."

His voice was wary, Tony realized. Bruce was speaking cautiously, as though there were some topic he was afraid of bringing up. Tony eyed him as he fiddled with the folder. "Does it say in there that they thought I was working with Loki?"

Bruce didn't look up, but he winced slightly. "Yeah."

"And that they cleared me?"

"Yes. Yes, of course." He reached up and pulled off his glasses, polishing them on the hem of his shirt. His face held a degree of apprehension.

Tony felt unease creep along his spine. "Then what's wrong?"

Bruce replaced his glasses carefully. "This whole business with Loki… it's odd. Aimless. Before, there was a definitive goal to everything he did, and now he's running around turning people into polar bears and holding press conferences. What's the sense in that?"

"But that's not why you're being all…" Tony's gesture was swallowed by the restraints. "Twitchy. What else is going on, Bruce?"

"I'm getting there." He took a deep breath. "Fury thinks – and, based on his notes, I agree – that there has to be something bigger going on underneath all this. He's had his agents up all night looking for connections of any kind, doing research, that sort of thing, and he hasn't got a thing to show for it. It's perfectly logical for him to be, well, reaching."

Tony waited for him to elaborate, but he was quiet. "Reaching for…?"

"An explanation. Mostly someone to blame." There was a pause, and Tony half-expected him to add, "you," but he didn't. "He might be keeping his options open, he might be searching for a scapegoat. Just… try not to antagonize him."

"Too late," Tony muttered. Bruce smiled a little, and things probably looked normal from the outside, but there was still an undercurrent of disquiet as the other man switched the topic to the work he had been doing in Guatemala.

* * *

"Can't we see him? Explain?" Clint leaned a bit closer to one of the monitors, trying to hear the audio feed. "He's gotta be freaking out."

"You told me that you see better from a distance." Fury tapped a few keys and the video feed grew to encompass four screens rather than one. "I agree. In fact, I think a little distance is exactly what you need."

"Why?" Clint watched as the other man adjusted the camera angle, and zoom until Tony and Bruce were pictured front and center. He sent a wary look towards the other surveillance operatives before edging close to the director. "What are you and Natasha keeping from me and the team? You still think Tony's involved in Loki's shit?"

Fury's blatant lack of reaction sealed it, and Clint took a step forward. "All due respect, I thought we determined that Tony wasn't guilty."

"_You_ determined that because you wanted him to be innocent. I'm sure we would have the same problem if Agent Romanoff was suspected." Though Fury's voice was low, Clint flinched away from the words. A dark eye evaluated him. "You're loyal, Barton, and I appreciate that. What worries me is your loyalty to Stark, which keeps you from seeing what's going on right under your nose."

"I don't-"

"During the lie detection test we gave Stark, what were your impressions? What did you see?"

Anxiety formed a deep well in his stomach. "He was _nervous_. You weren't cutting him any slack."

"He hadn't _earned_ any slack. But that's not the point – _he _is. You were so concerned for Stark that you never once looked into his eyes to see if he was lying. And he was. _Extensively_."

Clint's gaze dropped to the monitor, where Tony was reaching for the water with a visibly shaking hand. "I don't buy that. Why would you say he was telling the truth if he wasn't?"

"We hoped that he would get comfortable enough to make a mistake."

"Like getting _kidnapped?_"

"Keep your voice down, Barton," Fury's tone held steel. "And yes. Maybe. Either way, I'm tired of being lied to. Stark's not leaving this compound until I get the truth. I'm going down there, and you," he sent the archer a cold look, "are staying here. Watch closely."

* * *

Skurge frowned down at the roiling concoction, gleaming even in the low light from the fire. "Amora. It has begun to bubble."

The figure on the floor didn't move.

"Amora?" Skurge leaned over the pot. The fumes of liquefied metal made him step back quickly. "Amora, it has-"

"I hear you." She lifted herself slowly, wincing as she flexed her fingers and wrists. Her frenzy had passed as the magic took its toll, leaving her quiet. "Bring it here. We will need to move quickly, before it cools."

Skurge nodded hastily and moved out of her way. Amora cast a sharp glance into the pot and, deeming it adequate, gestured for him to move it. He gripped its handle and lifted, stumbling beneath the weight despite Amora's hissed reprimands to hold it higher and stop sloshing it. Once he reached the incomplete charm, he fumbled to a halt and looked to her for instruction.

"Pour it into the grooves – _slowly_ – no, no, let me." Her brows drew together as she extended her hands and muttered a few words. The metal oozed from its container and slipped into the carved runes in the floor. There were hundreds of them, each one twining with those around it to form a circular patch of tangled symbols. Bit by bit, the metal settled into every crevice. It shone in the dull light with a malevolent sort of glint.

"Done?" Skurge grunted as he set the pot off to one side.

"Nearly." Amora knelt at the side of the circle, running her fingers along a thread of metal. It was still warm beneath her fingers. She smiled to herself. Runes like this would hold anything.

"Lend me a blade, Skurge," Amora commanded quietly, extending a hand. The air around her quivered with contained excitement. "These sorts of spells require… personal sacrifice."

* * *

"Mimicry may be the highest form of flattery," Fury remarked drily as he strode into the sickbay, "but you're taking it a little far, aren't you?"

Thor's eye opened quickly, and he sat up in bed, already reaching for the pen and paper.

"You can't see Stark until I've talked with him," Fury informed him, unperturbed by the way Thor's face fell in disappointment. "And I won't talk to him until I've gotten some answers from you."

Brow furrowed, Thor nodded once. His pen was poised.

"I want to know," Fury began, reaching for the evidence bag, "what this is."

Presented with the trinket, Thor blinked at it once before shaking his head. His expression was innocent enough.

"No?" Fury set it down on the tray attached to Thor's bed. "How about this?"

He pulled open the folder and rifled through it for a moment before placing a photograph in Thor's hand.

His eye went wide, but after a moment, he only shook his head again.

"Hm. That's strange. Because I talked with linguistics, and they've found certain similarities between some of these markings and some of the ones on your hammer." Thor wouldn't look at him, and Fury leaned closer. "What's stranger is that we can't get the damn thing off Stark's wrist. Bizarre, huh? No hinge, no seam, nothing."

Thor didn't respond. The pen was clasped loosely in his hand, but he made no attempt to use it. He wouldn't look at Fury.

"You know something about this. Whatever the fuck this is." Fury waited a moment longer, at he snorted at Thor's continued silence. "I'm tired of being lied to, Thor. I want to know the truth so that I'm not fighting blind. At one point, I trusted you and Stark, but until you give me some answers, I can't trust you now."

He broke off as Thor's pen moved across the page, slowly at first.

_We have done nothing wrong._

"You've done something. I'll decide whether or not it's wrong once I know what." Fury glared down at the god. "Tell me."

After a moment, Thor closed his eye and nodded once. His pen began to move across the page.

* * *

It was nearly an hour before Fury entered in a flurry of black leather and scowls. "Sorry to keep you waiting. Dr. Banner, there are agents outside who will escort you to the other Avengers if you're willing."

Bruce raised an eyebrow at the curt dismissal, but he didn't protest. He grabbed his jacket and made his way to the door, skirting Fury and giving Tony a look that was either _good luck _or _watch out_. Maybe both. As soon as the lock of the door clicked behind him, Fury moved closer. Tony's bonds seemed to tighten.

"How're you feeling, Stark?"

Somehow, the question was more unsettling than an instantaneous interrogation would have been. "You don't give a damn how I feel, otherwise I'd be out of this bed and in a decent chair."

"Too true." Fury's eye was frightening to look at - somehow satisfied and menacing at the same time. Nothing good came from a look like that. "But, then again, you've had a scare. Abducted by Loki: now that couldn't have been much fun." He grabbed Bruce's chair and settled down on Tony's left. "Want to tell me about it?"

Tony had the unshakable sense that he was walking straight into a trap. Something about the distinct lack of venom in Fury's voice, or the casual but tight grip he had on the black folder.

"Well, it wasn't… I mean…" Tony frowned as his tongue turned heavy, slowing his words. He had to concentrate as he spoke. "Loki grabbed me and teleported from the hotel. We ended up on a roof, and he made threats, then…" _knocked me out_, Tony tried to say, but the words wouldn't come. The sour taste in his mouth took on a burned flavor.

Magic.

"Then…?" Fury prompted with mock-patience.

Tony didn't respond as dread numbed his limbs. Loki had never lifted the spell that prevented him from lying. Unless something drastic changed in the next few minutes, he was fucked.

Under Fury's expectant gaze, he took a deep breath and tried to think of a half-truth that would suffice.

"I… I didn't have my suit," Tony worked to keep the panic in his voice to a minimum, "so there wasn't much I could do. I tried to-to keep him talking. After all, you know, the team was still in trouble, and I didn't want him to leave."

"And at some point in all this, you ended up at the Mansion."

"He did… something magical, then just left me there. I didn't even want to move for the first twenty minutes, I was so out of it."

"And then the agents found you?"

"Yeah. Real nice, but the way. The thing with the dart." He glared, but it didn't seem to scratch Fury's armor.

"A necessary evil, I'm afraid. But not without its merits. And you're a big boy, Stark, so I thought you could handle it. Or did you need me to hold your hand?"

Tony let out a wordless squawk as Fury tugged the sheets away from his arm. The glint of the Gauntlet, duller than the chrome of his restraints, was damning. The magic in his veins squashed the lie that rose to his lips, and he stared in silent horror as Fury's lip curled.

"I almost didn't believe it when linguistics told me they'd found a match to that fancy chicken scratch they found on Thor's hammer. Especially because you managed to hide this damn cuff from two of my sharpest agents for almost two weeks now." Fury's other hand was mutilating the folder as he spoke. "To think, we've been killing ourselves trying to track Loki, and you've been playing games with him all this time."

_Games. _Tony stared up helplessly. "How the hell-?"

"I showed Thor a picture of _that_." Fury managed to convey a lifetime's worth of disgust in a single word. "He explained in no time. Seemed to think that it would clear your name."

The horror had a bitter taste. Thor had broken his promise. "What did he tell you?"

"I'll read it aloud. He has to write, you know; Loki did some magic shit to shut him up, and we can't get his voice to work. At least this way, there's no need to take notes." Fury pulled a pad of paper from his folder. "Stop me if you've heard this before:

"'Tony has engaged in the Challenge of Asgard with Loki. It is played by warriors – by accepting, a Player binds him or herself to the other in a vow to see the Game through till its end. The first Challenge was that of the animals; the second likely involved the confusion and deception of the past day-'"

"Does it say anywhere in there why I did it?" Tony broke in. Blood roared in his ears. "He challenged me less than an hour after he fooled us into thinking that he was Thor. He all but promised that he would come back and kill the team."

"They can handle themselves." Fury's tone was harsh, and his hand was further mangling the paper he held.

"You can't possibly believe that anymore. Not after what's been happening."

"You thought you had a better shot of beating a god? Beating _Loki?_"

"Fuck, no," Tony snapped. "I thought that I would take the chance to keep the team safe, even if it meant that something might happen to me. I thought that they would be able to save more lives than I would destroy by getting involved with Loki."

Fury displayed no sympathy. "Touching. Truly."

"Dammit, I was _scared._ I didn't know what the hell I was doing, and I freaked out. The last thing I wanted was for everyone to be pissed at me for doing what I thought was right."

"There's nothing right about keeping this liaison a secret."

"It's not a _liaison_-"

"Maybe not, but you had valuable information that we could have used to find Loki and stop him."

"I had to do it _on my own. _Loki-"

"Challenged you. I got that." Fury leaned forward. "You sure this isn't about pride? The guy throws you out a window, gets you arrested, so you decide to take him on alone? You were always a solo act before the Avengers, maybe you wanted to be one again."

"God, are you fucking kidding? I did do this to fight him alone. I've been trying to stop him from killing people."

"Alright, let's pretend that's what you've been doing. It doesn't explain why you kept it a secret. Thor wrote," He smoothed the paper out and read, "'Though I pleaded with him, Tony fears that Clint, Natasha, and Steve will begrudge him for his actions.' What _actions_ are those, Stark? The agreement itself, or something else you've been hiding?"

"I'm not-" The feeble lie died on his tongue; Tony tasted magic.

"You're not…?" Fury prompted, voice acidic.

"I…" He swallowed, thinking hard. He _would not _confess his error with the staffs, nor any of his other, more serious oversights of late. "I made some mistakes. I thought I could fix them before I explained everything."

Fury loomed over him. "What kind of mistakes?"

"I underestimated him. He's got… almost every advantage, every ace in the deck, and it's like I'm fighting blind. So I lose."

"You're avoiding the question."

"Because I _fucked up_. It wasn't my-" _fault_. The magic swallowed the word. "I didn't mean for anything bad to happen, but it was a-a price of playing the Game."

"Mean for _what_ to happen?

In that moment, Tony opened his mouth to respond and an invisible anvil drove the air from his lungs.

* * *

Amora doubled over with a cry, blood streaming from her wrist as the seal lit up with white fire.

* * *

The flesh of his wrist stung as Loki swiped his fingers through the collecting blood. The charm waited patiently, swarming with runes that appeared to shift and settle.

Loki whispered three words under his breath and pressed his fingers to the very center of the circle.

The blast of magic knocked him off his feet.

* * *

"Stark? Stark-"

"O-two stats are dropping-"

"He's _faking it_-"

"-need to intubate-"

Tony's ribs felt like they were being wrenched apart. Air was nonexistent. A giant hand was squeezing the life from his body, compressing him, smothering him-

* * *

Loki clambered to his feet, staring at the runes. Two brilliant pockets of light had erupted on the table – one to the north, the other to the west. They burned brighter with every passing second.

Stark was being summoned.

* * *

The pain peaked in Tony's chest, accompanied by a swelling of sounds and a burst of brilliant white light-

He hit the ground hard and lay there, choking on a lack of air. His skin felt raw and burned.

"No. _No._"

He shrank away from the scream that assaulted his eardrums, high and furious.

"Who is this? What trickery is this? _Where is Loki?_"

* * *

**...*hides***

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep**


	34. Chapter 34

**I won't give excuses here. I may write a giant tumblr post bitching about life, but I've giving you all enough grief. I'm sorry. Let me just say that I scrapped more of this draft than I have for any other chapter, ever, because it really wasn't working...**

**But here it is! An update just in time for the end of the world!**

**Warning: Violence, angst.**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine. The Game is, though. Did I mention that? Well, it is. No touchy.**

* * *

Fury stared down at the tousled sheets. The empty drone of a flat lined heart monitor filled his ears. The three doctors standing beside him were giving each other looks of utter bewilderment and horror.

Finally, he let out a heavy breath and put a hand to his earpiece. "Make copies of that tape and send three to conference room 73A. Tell every able Avenger to be there immediately. Call Ms. Potts' escort and get her back to this base with that armor intact. I want her in an interrogation room the second she's through the front door."

Without waiting for any confirmation, Fury exited the holding cell and headed for the elevator. As he pushed the button, Romanoff's voice came over the radio. "What happened?"

"Stark pulled a Houdini. Some magic shit."

"He escaped?"

"He vanished into thin fucking air. If you're still with Rogers in the infirmary, grab him and Thor and get to the conference room. You'll be briefed there." He stepped into the elevator. "And make sure whoever tells Banner does it gently."

"What about Barton?"

Crossing his arms, Fury glanced at the camera perched in the corner of the lift. "He knows."

* * *

They were a block away from the mansion when Agent Todd slammed on the brakes and pulled the van into a sharp U-turn. Horns screamed. Pepper's head nearly collided with the door, and she sent him an incredulous look.

"What are you _doing?_"

"New orders," he muttered, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.

"What's so urgent that you can't drop the armor at the Mansion first? Or at Stark Tower?"

After a pause, he answered coolly: "Nothing. Just a security issue that needs to be addressed."

Pepper's nails dug into the armrest. "I thought you people were supposed to be good liars."

He didn't respond, and Pepper went for her phone (she half-expected Agent Todd to try to stop her). Clint and Natasha's cell phones went straight to voice mail, but – shockingly – Steve picked up on the fourth ring.

"Tony?" His voice held desperate hope.

"What? No, it's Pepper." Her stomach lurched. "Have you been in touch with him?"

"He… we lost him."

"_Lost _him?" Every muscle in her body seemed to go rigid. "What does that mean, you lost him?"

"Look, he just vanished, Pepper, there was nothing we could-"

"I know he vanished, I was there, Steve." Agent Todd sent her a look, but she ignored him, turning towards the window.

"No, he was here, and then he … wasn't."

"You had him? You-" His words didn't quite click. Her hands felt cold.

"I-I need to go, Pepper, I'm sorry."

"Steve- Steve, _wait-_" She pulled the phone away from her head, cursing at the _Call Ended_ caption that flashed beneath Steve's picture. She turned towards Agent Todd and mustered as much authority as she could. "I want to know what's going on."

"I'm not aware of the situation."

"Like hell you aren't."

"I need you to remain calm, Miss Potts." He stated it dispassionately, as though trying to set an example with his abundance of aplomb.

Pepper faced the window, disgusted and terrified.

* * *

Amora had Stark.

_Amora had Stark._

Something with a taste like horror surged through his veins as the words rolled over and over in his mind.

She could torture him. She could break him. She could kill him.

Loki forced a breath into his lungs and pulled up his sleeve with a false self-assurance. Wrapping a hand around his Gauntlet, he waited for the pulse of magic that would pull Stark to him.

Nothing.

He gritted, knuckles white, willing it to work. Willing Stark to him.

The air in his lungs wrenched itself out, creating a sound that Loki barely recognized. When he released the Gauntlet, his fingers fluttered in the throes of subtle tremors. He pressed them into fists, smothering any manifestation of his emotions. This was not a time for panic. This was a time for logic.

This was always a possibility. Losing pawns was a given, a reason never to acknowledge them as more than that: pawns. There was no sense in risking himself for such a person.

(_An imagined picture of Stark crossed his mind - Stark broken, bleeding, mangled, dying_-)

He gritted his teeth as his fingernails tore into the skin of his palms. Necessary, he told himself. It was necessary. And he was never one to put himself in danger when it was not a necessity.

So, there. That was that. He'd lost a pawn and nothing more.

But when his eyes closed, the memories were still there, crowding against the inside of his skull and crying out to be recognized.

"Leave it," he muttered, but when his eyes opened, his hands still trembled. Loki took six measured breaths, but the shaking refused to abate. "Leave him."

Stark's voice, brash and determined and pained, echoed in his ears.

Loki felt cold. He waited for numbness to set in, to soften the knifing ache in his chest, but none came.

On the table, the glow of the charm urged him northward.

* * *

The woman's screams were unceasing. Tony pushed himself onto his hands and knees, scrabbling for purchase as the ground lurched and bucked beneath him. No matter how hard he blinked, he couldn't focus on the scene before him. In comparison, his ears seemed to be doing twice their usual work, funneling every nuance of the woman's shrieks into his head. ("Where is he? _Where is he?!_")

Tony squinted through his headache, but all he could see was a blur of blonde hair amid a swirl of soft specks of light. Gradually, his vision adjusted until he could identify the glow of candles against dirt so dark that it looked wet. The walls he could discern were rough, curving upwards. A man shaped like a mountain was settled in one corner.

The woman stood in the center, mere feet from him. Her face contorted with rage.

His stomach knotted tightly. His breaths, each shallower than the last, tasted of moisture and earth and blood and something burned. The ground, cool and slightly damp against his palms, sent a sharp spear of clarity into his mind.

He was underground.

He was in a cave.

A _cave._

He focused on his breathing, but the thick, earthy air smothered him. His skin felt tight, suffocating, and his hands were already beginning to shake.

Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. New circuit boards, Santa Claus, scotch, cave-ins-

Tony put a hand down to steady himself, and he touched metal. For a terrible moment, the word _cage_ rose in his mind, but there was no metal above or beside him – only below. He shifted his fingers, feeling for a hint, and the sharp edge of whatever it was nearly sliced into his thumb. Straining his eyes, he caught the faintest gleam in the candlelight, half-buried in the black earth.

Parts, his mind wondered sluggishly, or a whole? Maybe he could build his way out of captivity a second time. (Somehow, he doubted he would be so lucky.)

"Hey," he croaked, struggling to overcome the briars in his throat. The woman didn't seem to notice, and he tried again. "_Hey._"

"Explain yourself," she seethed, finally taking notice. "Who are you? How did you come to be marked by Odin's Seal?"

"I'm not explaining anything. You brought _me _here, not the other way around." Tony's eyes slid to the damp walls again, and he shuddered. "Fuck, where is this? Is this even America? Because without a suit, I'm going to need a passport to get out, and I don't know where mine is. That's Pepper's job, not mine. Anything travel-oriented is her problem. Oh, God. Is this even earth?" He could feel himself beginning to babble, but he couldn't quite stop himself. "If this isn't earth, I'm fucked, because I'm not magic, and there's no fucking way I can get back on my own, and it's not like you people are going to help me, because you brought me here in the first place, and- oh, is that a fucking _ax?_"

"Where. Is. Loki?" The woman hissed.

"_Where. Am. I?_" Tony bellowed back. "Do you have any idea what I went through this past week? Or the week before? A whole lot of _shit, _that's what. I didn't sign up for this."

The woman regarded him with blazing eyes. The mountain man inched closer, one hand on the handle of his massive weapon. As he approached, she seemed to let out a calming breath. And she smiled.

* * *

"I don't understand it," Steve was saying, eyebrows so scrunched that Clint thought they might meet in the middle. "Was the game bad? Was Tony betraying us?"

"We're not sure," Natasha responded quietly, but a loud thump from Thor's side of the table shifted the attention to him.

He held up a piece of paper bearing the words, _Tony did NOT betray us._ Once he was sure they had read it, he lowered it to the table and added, _He acted bravely and should not be punished for such actions._

"This coming from the guy who knew the whole fucking time." Clint's voice was soft, his expression blank. Years of S.H.I.E.L.D. training pinned him in place, keeping his breaths even and smooth while anger tinted his vision red.

Thor, by comparison, looked harried and tense as he scribbled something down. _I did not become aware until after the Challenge involving the animals._

"Oh, that's much better. But what I meant was, you knew, so you were ready when everything went to hell. Or, at least, you should have been. The rest of us were just sitting blind, deaf, and dumb and holding targets in front of our faces." Clint could see Natasha nodding slightly out of the corner of his eye, and he gritted his teeth. He didn't want her support. "Why didn't you say anything? When you could still talk, anyway."

Honest anger flashed through his eyes. _The secret was not mine to disclose._

"Bullshit. It involved the team." Clint turned away as his voice began to rise, clenching his fist as a reminder. An absence of calm would not be looked upon kindly in this environment.

Across the table, Bruce was polishing his glasses. The set of his shoulders held an air of false meekness, not even remotely hinting at the power so neatly packaged inside him. Just looking at him, at his control, made Clint feel a little calmer.

Thor knocked on the table again, shoving his paper at Clint. _Loki's actions are his own. I am certain that Tony played no part in his plan yesterday._

"That has yet to be decided," Fury growled, looming behind Thor. "And even if Stark was off polishing his halo while Loki kicked your sorry asses, the fact that he hid his involvement from us is far from a positive sign."

"May I-"

Thor's hand crashed against the table again, silencing Bruce, and he wrote something quickly before pushing the paper towards the center of the table. _We would not have been able to interfere with the Game's proceedings. Such involvement would have had disastrous consequences._

"If we couldn't interfere, then we wouldn't have interfered," Steve argued (ignoring Fury's look of _oh, really?_)"Tony should have told us. He shouldn't have done this on his own."

"I agree-"

Thor thumped the table again, but Bruce raised a hand to halt him. "I agree," he repeated, "but I'm still a little fuzzy on what Tony should have told us, exactly. We shouldn't condemn him until we've established what happened."

"Which is a little hard to do since he's hanging out with the god of massacres, world invasions, and mind-fuckery," Clint added icily.

Outside, thunder boomed. It took one glance at Thor's face to guess why, but Clint kept going. "We should focus on damage control and preventative measures. We need to be ready to handle whatever's thrown at us next."

Bruce cleared his throat. "While that may be true, we should retrace the events of the past few weeks, look at them from a new perspective. I want to understand why Tony did this." He looked around at them, his face tightening. "Am I the only one who wants that? Am I the only person here who remembers that this is Tony Stark we're talking about? Sure, he's conceited and secretive, and sometimes he makes irrational or immature decisions-"

"And he lied to us for _weeks_," Natasha pointed out, but Bruce went on:

"-but we need to keep in mind the sacrifices he's made along this road. He has fought more than his share of battles and always done what's best for the team. Unless he's had a serious psychological break, I sincerely doubt that he is working with Loki without a _very _good reason."

Clint felt his anger squirm in his gut, beginning to ferment into guilt. It _was_ Tony, after all. (But that didn't mean he wasn't still pissed.)

"All fair points, Dr. Banner," Fury nodded, "and we will certainly take them into account."

"Oh?" Bruce uncrossed and re-crossed his arms. "That's strange, because all of those points were just as fair when you ordered your men to drug Tony on sight."

Thor straightened and sent Fury a look of shocked outrage.

"That was a _precaution_," the director stated crisply.

"Of course. There was no better way to make sure it was Tony."

"You haven't been around, _Doctor_," Fury gritted out, "but we've had some trouble lately with Loki's impersonations."

"I'm aware. It's not your motivation I'm questioning, Director, but your execution. Part of you wanted to strap Tony down until he told you what you wanted to hear."

There was a small beat of silence, as though everyone expected an invisible Tony Stark to make that into something dirty.

"I made a call. It would have been the right one if Stark hadn't flown away or jumped in a wormhole or whatever the fuck he did. As it is, we'll have to make due with what we do know if we're honestly trying to give Stark a fair trial. Which reminds me," Fury turned to Thor. "Since you clearly know so much more about this then the rest of us, I think you need to do some more writing." He pushed a pad of paper towards the god. "Start with what Stark was so ashamed of."

* * *

"I am afraid that your experiences are not known to me." Still smiling, the woman sat, crossed her legs, and folded her hands in her lap. "Would you like to tell me about them?"

Tony stared, wholly unnerved by her emotional about-face. Sane people didn't do that. "No. Thanks, though. If you're feeling helpful, I'd like to go back now."

The smile widened, and she tilted her head to one side. "I cannot. However, I am certain that your stories would hold the utmost interest for me. Perhaps we will trade answers with one another?"

That could be useful as long as the truth spell didn't force out anything too awful. Tony held up a hand, ticking off questions with his fingers. "Who are you, who is _he_-" he jerked a thumb towards the hulking man at her side, "-where am I, and why am I here?"

"I am Amora. You are…?"

He answered slowly, trying to remember why that name was familiar. "Tony."

"Tony. A wonderful name." Her grin wasn't quite large or small enough. He half-expected her eyes to be devoid of warmth or compassion, but they were plenty. Still, there was something coiled and menacing within her. (Or maybe Tony was just holding a grudge because she'd summoned him here and then screamed at him for ten minutes.) "This is Skurge," she added, looking up at the man as though telling him, _say hello, Skurge._

Skurge didn't say hello.

"As for why you are here, Tony," Amora leaned closer, smiling conspiringly. "Skurge and I are pursuing the Asgardian criminal named Loki. How do you know him?"

Tony thought fast, trying to pick nonchalant words that wouldn't dig his grave any deeper. "He invaded. He lost. He got shipped back to Asgard. When he came back, we ended up crossing paths. Where am I?"

"Underneath Midgardian soil. You are enemies?"

Not trusting his voice, Tony nodded once.

Amora's eyes glittered. "Very good."

"Not really how I'd phrase it. Why am I here?"

"You have had the misfortune of falling into a trap meant for Loki. Odin's Summoning Seal."

Tony recalled the words from Loki's rooftop explanation. He rubbed his fingers together absently, remembering the red stain that had marred his skin.

"I understand that this is all quite distressing for you – I especially regret the earlier loss of my temper. It was not my intention to frighten you." She widened her eyes, and Tony inwardly sighed. He had yet to meet an Asgardian who hadn't addressed him as though he were a child (except for maybe Skurge). "However, before we release you, we are in need of your assistance in locating Loki."

"You think I know where he is?" Tony's laugh came out strangled. "He pops in and out like a rabbit in a magic show. I have no idea where he is."

Her pleasant expression never faltered. "I feel certain that you have some awareness of his whereabouts."

"Did you hear me? He could be crowd-surfing in Madison Square Garden, or he could be setting New Zealand on fire."

Amora leaned forward. "Where is this garden? Nearby?"

"I was being metaphorical. What I meant was, he could be anywhere." Tony inched backwards, wincing when something in his back spasmed.

She lifted her eyebrows, expression turning coy. "Not even an inkling?"

"No inklings. Can I go?"

"But you owe me an answer," she purred. "How did you come by Loki's staff?"

"Loki's- what?" Tony frowned. That wasn't a question he'd expected.

"Loki's staff. It bore Odin's Seal before it attached itself to you."

The staff. Tony stared at her dumbly as the scene unfolded in his head. Opening the box and grabbing the metal and running for his life.

Amora watched him closely. "You did not know?"

"No, I… I thought…." The pieces fell into place, and Tony swallowed. Loki had sent him to retrieve a cursed weapon to that he wouldn't fall into his father's trap.

Blonde hair swayed as Amora nodded sympathetically. "He tricked you."

The words stung. Their veracity only worsened their bite. "Yeah, but..."

"It is a common occurrence," she assured him, as though that would unravel the knot in his throat. "Loki has no qualms about the manipulation of others for personal benefit."

"I know that." Tony mumbled. He hated that this surprised him, even after everything that had happened.

"Then you know his evil nature. You will help us find him." Beneath her earnest, wide eyes was a hunger.

He found his head shaking. "I don't know where he is. If I could tell you…" he shrugged. And the truth was that he _didn't_ know; he'd only ever glimpsed Loki's living space. If he did know, he wasn't sure what he would say.

"If it is a matter of fear, we are able to protect you. I can hide you where he could never find you, and Skurge…" she sent a glance at the mountain man. "Skurge is very good with an ax."

"I believe you. He just… he doesn't have a lair or anything," Tony improvised wildly, remembering the god's words for what felt like years ago. "Nothing I tell you will help the scavenger hunt."

Amora pursed her lips, but nodded. "Very well. Perhaps you can aid us in another matter. Loki is not the only thing we seek."

Skurge moved for the first time in eons, turning his head and frowning at Amora. "Is this wise?"

"Wise enough." To Tony, she said, "Loki is searching for something old, something that would have the potential to serve as a magical vessel."

"How old are we talking?"

"Ancient. The older it is, the stronger its potential."

"Hm. No, don't think he's mentioned anything like that."

"No?"

"No."

She eyed him a moment longer, as though she expected him to crack a smile and play off his not-knowing as a joke. A bitter, breathy laugh escaped her when no such words came. "I'd hoped to make an ally of you, Tony. I wonder what it would take to convince you that Loki is unworthy of your loyalty."

"I'm not…" _loyal_, Tony tried, but the word stuck in his teeth.

"Oh, I am sure he has you well under his spell. He has that nasty habit of manipulation, lest you forget. Captivating unsuspecting mortals is no stretch for him."

"I'm not _captivated_," Tony snapped, agitated by the condescension in her gaze.

"Aren't you?" She raised a hand against his reply. "Has he told you why he is here? What he seeks? Did he regale you with the tale of his harrowing escape from Asgard?"

Tony glared. "No, but-"

"But what? Why be so hasty to defend him?" Her smile was knowing. "Unless there is another factor at play?"

"Which is?"

"You might love him."

"I don't _love him_," Tony recoiled, fear quickening his heartbeats as the magic constricted his throat, barely allowing the words out of his mouth.

"Hm. Not yet, perhaps, but you certainly _feel_ for him." Her eyes widened in mock innocence. "It is no wonder you strive so to protect him. But it is such a waste of your heart, Tony. It is best to abandon him while you are still able."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Anger turned his blood cold.

Amora's eyes were backlit with a strange, muted glee. "He has no capacity for love."

"What are you, an ex or something?"

For a moment, her grin was more bared teeth and less sugar. Then she was back to being wry. "Not quite."

"Then he never gave you the time of day at all, is that it?" The brief look of outrage in her eye was followed by cruel determination.

"He lacks the ability," she gritted out, "because has the heart of a frost giant. A monster."

Despite the fervor of her words, Tony couldn't quite muster the despair she was looking for. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

Her shock was clear. "You would give yourself to such a creature?"

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Are we talking about the same Loki? Tall, dark hair, kind of lacking in the fangs and scales departments?"

"He hides his true form behind Aesir skin," she hissed. His lack of reaction clearly irritated her. "His very face is a lie."

Well, that wasn't what Tony had expected to hear. "But there aren't any fangs, right? Because fangs would be a dealbreaker. People make enough vampire jokes these days as it is."

"You do not understand. He can never love you like mortals and Aesir need to be loved. He is not _capable_."

"Who said anything about love? You make it sound like…" Tony's reply stalled in his mouth as Loki's words from the rooftop sounded in his head. _I cannot_. Not _I don't_, or _I won't_. He'd said _cannot_.

"He will make you love him," Amora hissed, moving closer, "and when your usefulness has been exhausted, he will end your association without a second thought."

The wrathful snarl vanished without warning. "Tony, I will help you best him," she whispered, "But only if you aid me as well. Your association with him will bring you nothing but pain." Her eyes, too yellow-green to resemble Loki's, were suddenly too wide and too kind. "Let me help you."

Tony moved back further, unnerved by the sudden shift in her demeanor. "Pass. I prefer my crazy gods with dark hair."

The smile contorted into something ugly before reverting to sick sweetness. "A shame. I would have liked to remain unsullied. Skurge," she spoke without turning, "break the Seal."

He stood instantly, hefting the ax as he approached.

Tony flinched wildly as the blade flashed down, imbedding itself in the metal grid below him. His ears popped, and an invisible grip he hadn't noticed before seemed to release his chest. Pulling in a deep breath, he felt a moment of unexpected relief.

"Hold him."

He went rigid at that, stilling before he scrambled away from Skurge's grasping hands. One sore wrist buckled, and the giant man caught up with him easily.

It wasn't until his back was against the ground and boulder-like hands were digging into his bruises and Amora was standing over him that he understood. Amora wore masks that fit her clumsily compared to the skill and grace of Loki's charades. She was an amateur, and he was the master.

Now, she made no attempt to hide her contempt. "I assume there is no point to questioning your certainty."

"Not really. But let me guess – you have ways of making me talk."

She sneered. "Bravery will do you no favors."

Actually, Tony was having trouble remembering what bravery felt like. From what he'd been told, he tended to lean more towards outright insanity.

Amora raised her hands. Starting in her palm, swirls of misty green flame burst from her skin and roved to coat her fingers.

"Neat," Tony commented weakly, dread spiking his heart rate as she moved closer and straddled his stomach. Skurge's grip tightened.

The fire reflected in her eyes. She leaned in, tracing one finger across his chest. He smelled burnt fabric.

"Silly boy," she crooned, brushing one smoldering finger along his jaw despite his struggles. His eyes watered at the fierce sting. "You are a tool of his. You are not an equal, or a friend, or a lover, and you never will be."

Her thumb swept across his cheek. He shut his eyes against the burn, against the light.

"If anything, you are his pet wolf. Trailing after him, loyal and lovestruck."

The pain neared the corner of his mouth.

"If only you had teeth."

Her finger scorched the edge of his lip and was gone.

A bellow shocked his eyes open, and Skurge's hands vanished as a blast of deep, dark green energy knocked him back.

Another hand, lighter but just as strong, gripped his shoulder for a moment before being wrenched away.

Tony pushed himself up, fumbling as he dragged himself towards a wall and put his back against it, blinking the cave into focus. Pain distanced the sounds and blurred the scene.

Amora screamed senselessly, whirling her hands and hurling fire towards a snarling blur of black and green less than three feet from him. Her opponent produced a staff from nowhere and knocked them aside before unleashing a volley of brilliant white spheres. They darted forward before detonating, emitting sparks that latched onto Amora. She screeched, swatting at her arms.

Skurge appeared on the fringe of Tony's vision, swinging and bellowing. The staff met the ax, deflected it; its owner sank something slick and shining into Skurge's stomach. Another spell knocked them to the ground. The ax fell a yard from Tony's foot.

"You cannot best me!" Amora shrieked. Tony pressed back against the wall, trying to make himself unnoticeable as he groped the ground for the weapon. "You are _weak_, Loki! Too weak to save yourself, much less this foolhardy mortal."

Rising to his feet, Loki took aim. Amora dodged the sphere, crashing her hands together to send a blast of energy that made Tony's ears ring, but Loki gestured sharply and didn't move an inch. With a cry, she summoned a flock of glittering daggers that swarmed Loki before they were blasted apart with a hissed word.

Tony's fingers curled around the handle, and he dragged it towards him, out from under Skurge's not-stirring form.

Loki swung the staff in an arc, and the candles' fires leapt from their wicks and knitted together into a towering creature that brushed the ceiling. The heat made Tony's face burn with an intensity that seemed to stop his heart. He dragged the ax closer and got his other hand on it.

The beast swept forward, but Amora doused it with a shout. Darkness rushed in.

Blasts of light illuminated the cave in bursts. Silvery light, amber light, violet light, bloody light.

Then silence. Blackness.

"I will slaughter your wolf, Loki," Amora's voice trickled over Tony's skin. "I will drown you in his blood."

He gripped the ax tighter, staring into the black and waiting.

Something rustled close by. "Insanity does not suit you, Amora."

Fire roared past in waves, scorching the opposite wall. A hand snatched Tony's, drawing a yelp, and he was plunged into a deeper, thicker darkness.

The long, ghastly roar sounded. It drew close, closer, until all Tony could hear was the scream and he thought his head would explode and Loki's hand was crushing his-

His feet hit solid ground, and Tony gasped in air, clutching Loki's armor as they staggered. A ringing filled his ears. His vision swam, and his grip loosened as his legs slid out from under him. This time, the blackness was welcome.

* * *

**Feel free to yell at me.**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep**


	35. Chapter 35

**Okay, I had a sucky (month) week and had a shit-ton of stuff that I should have done instead of writing this (which didn't want to be written), so I'm sorry, and I hope you enjoy it because I'm going to die tomorrow and Tuesday.**

**_IMPORTANT__ NOTICE:_ you may want to re-read the first half of chapter 29, _Interlude_, because otherwise, you might be a little lost. It's not very long, and it shouldn't take more than a few minutes.  
**

**Other, less important notice: because I'm rushing, there are probably mistakes here, so _please _let me know if you see one or two or ten.**

**Disclaimer: still not mine.**

**Warning: super-mega-angst.**

* * *

"Unconsciousness is not tantamount to proper thanks, Stark," Loki snapped, hauling the unresponsive body onto the bed with ease. Still, the motion jarred his injured shoulder, and he moved to pull his armor off, out of the way of the wound's healing, until only air brushed the burn.

It stretched down from his shoulder to his arm in a swath of blistered skin, a reminder of Amora's final attack. She had always favored fire; now he would have another scar to attest to that. Beneath the prickle of the healing, the raging pulses of pain dulled steadily into something manageable. Loki could feel his magic stretching thin, thin, thinner, working to eradicate the magic from his skin. Cursed fire left nasty welts and blisters that, if left unchecked, would infect the rest of the body and result in slow, creeping death. Reversing it was taxing enough, but in Loki's condition, especially after the strain of the attack…

Stark let out a soft sound like a sigh or a groan, and Loki opened his eyes; he'd not realized that they had fallen closed. Lying on the bed, ashen and wounded, Stark had never looked more helpless.

Loki knelt, turning Stark's face towards the lit lantern on the beside table. Stark's right cheek was a mess of blisters and stubble. The burns had a greenish tint, the equivalent of Amora's signature scrawled in magic. Another curse to be broken, one that would pose a larger challenge than his own. External healing was difficult enough when magic _wasn't_ involved.

He almost left then, already drained by his own wound, but something in Stark's slack face kept him frozen. The man looked young and old all at once. The wry wit that usually occupied the creases by his eyes had been replaced with a queer, ill-fitting somberness, as though he could sense the gravity of his wound.

"I should have left you," Loki told him softly, tracing the blistered skin. "You aren't worth such trouble."

He could imagine Stark's response. Something brash and impudent about being worth every trial and tribulation, or worse – something childish and stubborn about how much Loki would have regretted leaving him because of how much he _cared_. Because of how much Stark meant to him.

"You are nothing," Loki whispered. A wave of exhaustion crested, and his hand trembled as he repeated the word without a shred of the venom it deserved: "Nothing."

Stark mocked him with stillness and silence.

"How I loathe you for this," He murmured, staring down. The thought of ending it arose; he could kill Stark quietly, before whatever he felt for the man was given the chance to grow. It would be easy. It would be quick. It would be far better than a slow death at Amora's hands or that of her spell.

It would spare Loki the pain of watching him die at a later time, when sentiment had done its damage to Loki's heart and left it vulnerable.

All he would have to do was move his hand down to Stark's neck, or over his mouth and nose. A simple solution, and a kindness to them both, really – Stark would not suffer more than he had already - surely Valhalla waited for him - and Loki would not face the pain of losing him in a time when it would matter.

But it mattered now.

A moment passed, and Loki hadn't moved. His breath slid between his teeth in a sigh, and he shut his eyes to stave off the wild terror brought on by a feeling of _can't._ The thought of Stark lying still in death rather than unconsciousness was enough to banish the air from his lungs and the heart from his chest.

His eyes opened and fixed themselves on Stark's form, waiting for the rise and fall of his breathing. The sweet reassurance he gleaned from the rasp of breath was embittered by a rush of self-loathing. That he should feel the need to keep breath in Stark's body was a sign of his own foolishness and weakness. A sign of sentiment already taking root against all odds.

Slowly, gently, his fingers slid across Stark's face until they cradled his battered cheek. How victorious Stark would feel were he awake and able to overhear Loki's thoughts, proving his accusations true.

When he reached for the magic, all that remained was a faint stirring. The emptiness resonated. Loki gritted his teeth, reached into his core, and _pulled_, dredging out just enough. No more than that: simply enough. The effort sent tremors through his fingers, and he steadied them against Stark's skin as he pressed his lips to the burn. Hands were hardly ever good enough, direct enough, when it came to wounds inflicted by magic.

His eyes closed as his mind felt for the infection. It took only a moment – it was an ugly, seething thing – and he breathed magic into the skin. His lips ghosted over the trail forged by Amora's fingers, pushing energy in to combat the curse and restore the flesh. The dark magic fought him for a moment, shoving back before shriveling and fading. Were Stark awake, the reversal of the spell would have been agonizing.

The path he followed ended at Stark's lower lip, soft despite the subtle cracks. Loki felt hollow, drained, but he didn't move for a long moment. Weakness gnashed its teeth, dripping treacherous poison into his veins; Stark's breath warmed his cheek.

"I am sorry." Loki mouthed the words, putting no air behind them. The sincerity made up for sound.

_Sorry that I care._

_Sorry that I doomed you._

_Sorry that I cannot save you._

He pulled away, striving for some semblance of control, but a hand caught his before it could slide from Stark's cheek.

Loki flinched. The urge to break the weak grip and flee was strong, but Stark was looking at him with something like wonder, and he stayed.

"Where-" the man cleared his throat sharply, eyes flicking away and back to Loki's face. "Where are we?"

"Somewhere safe," Loki responded quietly, coolly, refusing to acknowledge the voice within him that rejoiced at the life in Stark's eyes, however muted.

"That's not an answer, that's evasion," Stark muttered. His brow creased, and his eyes closed for a moment. "Speaking of, why didn't you tell me that you're playing hide-and-seek with the psychos from Asgard?"

"It did not concern you."

Stark snorted. "Well, it does now."

"No." It did. However much Loki denied it, he knew that much.

Dark eyes opened, unconvinced. "Are they going to come after me?"

Yes. "No. Amora will likely be satisfied with whatever you told her. I am her priority."

Stark's eyes weren't quite focused but were sharp. "Even if I believed that, I didn't tell her anything."

Loki blinked and blamed his exhaustion on the query that escaped: "Why not?"

"I-" He paused, as though Loki had surprised him. His brow scrunched again. "Why'd you get me out?" Loki tilted his head to one side, withholding the question this time, and Stark elaborated in a low, careful voice. "Amora said that I was a… tool. Like a pawn. But if I was, you wouldn't have come flying to the rescue." He swallowed. "So maybe there's only one reason."

Loki's ribs felt too small, crushing his lungs. Stark's eyes were serious and expectant and just a tiny bit hopeful, and his grip had grown stronger on Loki's hand. The effort it took to shake his head was tremendous. "Even if you were not a pawn, Stark, but you are certainly an enemy. An opponent."

The light in his eyes dimmed but didn't go out. "You saved me."

"Irrelevant."

"It's not- look, even if we put that aside, put everything aside, I was just kidnapped because of you. Even if I'm a _pawn_-" he spat the word "-and nothing more, I deserve an explanation."

Loki shook his head once, steeling himself against Stark's outrage and anger and hurt as he reached out and touched the center of his forehead. Stark had no time for a last word before the strained bit of magic put him to sleep and left Loki shaking at the effort and the persistent little pain in his chest.

Stark's accusation had melted away, leaving a slight pinch to his brows as the last sign of it.

Loki stood carefully, his eyes tracing the faint hint of scars that Amora had left behind (that _he _had left behind). Turning, he masked frailty in long strides even though there was no one to see. In the doorway, he denied himself the luxury of looking back to make sure that Stark was breathing.

* * *

_The boat rocked gently as it drifted, pushed only by the wind. The water shone like fish scales beside the hull. Tony crossed his legs, just enjoying the sun and the bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand (maybe he'd run out of scotch)._

_There was a slight splash as, across from him, Bruce cast in a fishing line. He wore a tackle-covered cap the size of a raccoon. Tony watched him thoughtfully, nagged by a sense of wrongness._

_"Why are you here?"_

_"Expecting someone else?" Bruce didn't spare him a look as he reeled in the line, frowning when it came up empty. "Darn."_

_"I don't know." Tony took a sip that he couldn't quite taste. "Weather's nice."_

_Tackle swung around Bruce's ears as he turned to look over his shoulder at the sky. "For now."_

_That was odd. Tony turned to look; there was nothing to see but blue sky. "For now?"_

_"Mm-hm." Pulling in another empty line, Bruce shook his head and sighed._

_"What're you fishing for?"_

_He sent Tony an odd look as he cast. "I asked you, but you wouldn't tell me."_

_"What?"_

_Bruce opened his mouth to respond, but a tug on the line gave him pause. He leapt up, eyes fixed on something beneath the surface as he reeled up as much line as he could, finally giving up on the spool to drag it up with his bare hands. His eyes gleamed. Small hills and valleys of fishing twine grew around his feet._

_Finally he stopped, holding something in his hands. He heaved another sigh. "Tony, keep track of these, would you? I'll never catch anything with these in the water."_

_A length of chain rested in his hands, each link thicker than a roll of quarters. They were colored an ugly black-grey._

_"Those aren't mine," Tony began, but with a start, he realized that each end of the chain curled around, draping over the floor of the boat and attaching to the twin Gauntlets on his wrists. He dropped the Jack Daniels, and liquid dribbled into the boat._

_"Just keep them away from my line," Bruce admonished, pitching them over the opposite side._

_The enormous weight dragged Tony out of his seat, onto the floor, until his head and shoulders were over the side, stretching towards the black, endless water. He couldn't see his reflection._

_"Bruce!" He struggled against the pull, only to slip forward another inch. "Bruce, help me!"_

_He craned his neck to look behind him, but Bruce was gone. Fury sat in his place, regarding him with one yellow-green eye. "You wanted to do this on your own, Stark. All alone."_

_Something beneath the surface gave the chains a tug, and one of his hands plunged into the water. It looked like tar and felt like oil._

_"Fury-"_

_The director was gone when he looked back._

_In the depths, something screamed. The chains gave an almighty yank, and Tony fell headfirst out of the boat._

_A hand grasped his, and he found himself staring into the sky; the ocean loomed below him, miles below. Loki leaned over the edge of the boat, and his fingernails dug into Tony's palm._

_Terror strangled him. "Pull me up!" The chains lurched, turning taut._

_"I cannot," Loki whispered, his face blank and terrible and wrecked by sorrow and malice alike. "I cannot."_

_"No, _Loki_-"_

_He let go. There was no air in Tony's lungs as he plunged into the abyss, into pure blackness, and his screams rang out in harmony with the beastly roar-_

* * *

Tony's scream lodged in his cracked throat; blood and death roared in his ears. He felt the manacles on his wrists, digging into bone, and clawed at them as another scream welled up. By the time he was conscious enough to recognize the skin beneath his nails, his skin was already stinging. His blood vibrated in his veins. The dream bit at the backs of his eyes, flooding his mind with snatches of lies. Worse than the lies were the scraps of truth: Amora's fiery hands, Pepper's tears, Fury's contempt.

The memory returned abruptly – Loki's hand under his, his stern voice, his face unreadable as he knocked Tony out with a touch. Tony's teeth clenched, remembering his own idiotic words. It had been naïve of him to think that Loki would simply hand over the answers. No – now it was time to demand them, fight for them.

As soon as he could get on his feet, that is.

Tony sat up slowly, paying close attention to the stability of his stomach as he did. Once he determined that he was in no immediate danger of puking, he looked around. There was a desk in one corner and a chair in the other, but aside from that, the room was sparsely populated. The only table rested beside the bed Tony occupied; it supported a large oil lamp that provided the majority of the light.

Candles and lanterns were arranged in careful clusters all over the floor. The light they provided faded into nothing as it ascended the walls, and, for a heart-stopping moment, a new fear joined the fray as Tony wondered if he was still in a cave. But there was a window, and, through a gap in its curtains, he could see the familiar dusky cloud covering beyond it, lit from below by the life and light of New York. A spasm of lightning twisted through the clouds.

Tony turned to settle his feet into the carpet, doing his best to ignore the chorus of aches and pains. He hadn't spent a great deal of time hypothesizing about Loki's sleeping quarters, but he wouldn't have guessed that they looked like this. The room needed more green or silver or ominous fragments of animal bones in the corners.

Two doors faced each other, one on either side of the bed. After a half-hearted game of eenie-meenie-miney-moe, Tony eased himself onto his feet and headed for the one on the right.

Behind it was a bathroom, complete with an enormous tub and a neat little rug on the floor. He came close to leaving it behind in favor of the other door, but his throat was dry and his mouth tasted like he'd licked the inside of a sewer.

He rinsed his hands as best he could before scooping palmfuls of water into his mouth, one after the other, until he didn't feel quite so withered.

His relief faded away as he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were red and his cheeks were unevenly scattered with stubble. Dirt smeared the right half of his face, and a bit of it was caked in his hair. Most of all, he looked utterly exhausted, as though he'd been in a cave for months, not hours. He still wore the dress shirt and pants from the conference, though both were smeared with soil and torn in places. Probably worth burning before Pepper saw them.

Pepper. She must've been freaking out. Tony sighed, rubbing his eyes. One problem at a time. It wasn't like he could call to apologize, since his phone had vanished at some point in the previous however-many hours.

There was a chunk of pale red something on the counter that Tony was (almost) sure was soap. When he washed his hands, he was struck by the crisp, clean aspect of Loki's smell.

As soon as his hands were clean, he did his best to wash the dead animal taste out of his mouth, even licking the soap once before determining that it was probably a bad idea (though it didn't taste half-bad). From there he scrubbed his face, even dunking his head under the faucet to get at his hair.

As he dried his face, his fingers found something unfamiliar: a subtle ridge in the skin of his left cheek. Tony's movements slowed. In the mirror, two minuscule white streaks marked his face – one on his cheek, another snaking its way up his jaw to the corner of his mouth. The last traces of Amora's burns.

He touched his lip as he pulled back, feeling for irregularity. They didn't even look like normal burn scars; these were even and thin rather than blotchy. From more than a few feet away, he couldn't discern the lines on his skin.

But they were there.

* * *

Pepper was exhausted. She had woken up at four am on Friday to make sure that everything would be perfect for the conference. She had watched Tony vanish in the clutches of the most dangerous person on earth. She had been carted to SHIELD headquarters, waited for Fury for hours, and left in the early morning hours to return to the site of the conference. From there, she had been impossibly close to getting the armor to a safe place and collapsing onto the Avengers' couch for a few hours of rest before rising once more to deal with the media's massacre.

Instead, she was at SHIELD headquarters in what seemed to be the same miserable interrogation room as last time (or so she assumed – for all she knew, they were all the same miserable shape and color and temperature).

"The Director is busy?" She asked crisply as Phil came in alone.

"Yes. He and the team are conferencing about what will happen next."

"What a coincidence – that's what I'm supposed to be doing right now. Instead, I'm here."

He sent her a strange look as he sat across from her, a strange mix of apology and reproach. "Sorry, but this is more important than the press frenzy." Pepper crossed her arms and stared him down, waiting. "New information has come to light about Stark's activities over the past few weeks. Before I start asking, is there anything else you might've… forgotten about when we were questioning you earlier?"

Pepper knew that he didn't mean it in an unkind way, but she was tired, and every word sounded like a suspicious insult. "No. I didn't forget anything."

"Alright, let's get this over with. Has Tony ever mentioned a game to you?"

"A… game?" Pepper's mouth dried as she thought of the book resting innocently in her briefcase. "No, he never mentioned one."

"Were you ever unable to find him for long periods of time? Say, a couple hours when he didn't answer his phone, or wasn't where he said he would be?"

Pepper raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged, adding, "I know, it sounds like Tony's prerogative, but think hard."

"He hasn't been acting any dodgier than usual, if that's what you mean."

"What about saying strange things? Anything about Loki?"

Pepper opened her mouth to answer no, but she remembered Tony's outburst and monologue in the bathroom just before he'd retreated to the workshop. The workshop that had looked like a war zone...

"Pepper?"

"There was something he was going to tell me after the conference," she admitted carefully. "Whatever it was, it really bothered him."

"He didn't give you any hints, even accidentally?" Phil pushed, leaning in slightly.

Pepper responded thoughtfully, doing her best to study Phil's reaction to each word she spoke. "Yesterday morning, before we left, he said he'd done something stupid, but, at the time, he thought it would work out in the long run. He said something like, 'I did this for them,' but he wouldn't tell me what it was. That's all I know."

* * *

In the conference room, the Avengers were silent, waiting for one of the images on the monitor to speak again. After a pause, Coulson asked if there was anything else, if she was sure, but Pepper gave no other answers. Fury turned it off and muttered something into his radio.

"So, there you have it," Bruce broke the silence so innocuously that silence still reigned; his voice simply added to it. "Tony isn't doing this out of malice or stupidity. He's doing it in an attempt to protect the rest of the team."

"We don't know that," Fury responded sharply. "He could have lied to her."

"To _Pepper?_" Steve shook his head. He'd been against eavesdropping on the interrogation in the first place, but Pepper's words had given him a sort of new hope. "Not a chance."

"He never told her when he was dying," Natasha contradicted.

"And he had no problem lying to us about all of this," Clint muttered.

Bruce was shaking his head. "We can do this all day, but we won't really know until we find Tony and talk to him ourselves."

"Of course, because he's going to pop back in any second and treat us to the inside scoop." Fury glanced back at the screen with an unfathomable expression. "He could be worlds away for all we know."

* * *

As he left the bedroom, Tony felt like he was in the early stages of another nightmare. A hallway some twenty feet long awaited him, adorned with two identical doors. Neat rows of candles led to the mouth of the hall, and, without any sort of concrete plan, he headed towards the hazy room beyond.

It was enormous, furnished seemingly at random with chairs and books. Lightning drew his gaze towards full-length windows at the opposite side of the room, towards a high-backed chair. A pale hand draped over one of the arms, and Tony headed towards it as the storm outside growled.

Tony's mouth was open as he rounded the chair, ready to launch accusations as needed, but any vocalization caught in his throat as the rest of Loki's body came into view.

He was dead.

That was Tony's initial thought, and he nearly fell over before he saw Loki's chest rise in a silent breath. Not dead, then, but he was almost too still to be considered alive. Seated in the throne-like chair, he looked the part of the fallen king.

Tony felt rooted to the floor, unsure of what to do aside from gape. Loki's shirt was missing, and his skin neared the color and transparency of ice beneath the shadows. Bones jutted from beneath delicate muscles which lay like coiled vipers, each one hinting at its potential strength. In the flickers of lightning, Tony caught the gleam of scar tissue scattered in unexpected disarray – he'd expected that Loki's scars would be orderly and immaculate. Somehow, they fit the chaos of their owner. His head had tilted back, and Tony could see the expanse of his throat behind thick, feathery strands of black hair.

Thunder cracked and boomed, startling Tony out of his staring.

Two voices spoke up; one wanted to shake Loki awake to demand answers that had he had been denied earlier, while the other wanted to kiss him awake, imminent death be damned. Then a third part surfaced, whispering for him to let Loki sleep and just be patient for once in his life. Tony wanted to ignore it (probably because it reminded him of something Steve might've said), but he couldn't quire bring himself to move his hand forward. It wasn't because he didn't want to - on the contrary, Loki's skin was enticing to the point of being unfair.

No, it was because waking him would mean that it was time for hard questions and sullen not-answers. Tony wanted answers – he'd been _kidnapped_, for God's sake – but the fight for the truth was not easily won, especially with Loki as an opponent. Especially not when Tony hadn't quite figured out what he was going to say, what with losing the Challenge at the conference and hearing Amora's words about giants and love and… kissing Loki. That wasn't easily forgotten, either.

With a final, lingering glance, Tony slunk away. That was the only word for it; he left Loki's still form and headed back towards the bedroom. He wasn't sure what he was going to do once he got there. Maybe he'd disassemble one of the lanterns to help himself think, or dig some wiring out of the walls in a place that Loki wouldn't notice. His mind felt overfull with what had happened, and he needed to process.

Passing by one of the doors in the hall, he slowed. Every instinct swore that snooping in a god's apartment was a horrible idea (though not quite as bad as kissing him awake) and that he would probably find a pile of rotting heads or a pack of venomous coyotes or a magical booby trap.

Or he might find something that would get him answers. Maybe he'd find whatever Amora was looking for, or something that would help with the Game. Maybe he'd find a bunch of musty, useless books. It was a more interesting alternative to pulling apart lanterns, anyway.

He opened the door before he could talk himself out of it. Cringing slightly with his hand on the doorknob, Tony waited for a swarm of bats that never came.

The room beyond was sheathed in shadow. Candlelight from the hall drifted in, hinting at a white, bare floor, and, after fumbling with a light switch, Tony blinked at the room's interior.

His first thought was that the whole thing was filled with piles of books and weapons. Then he stepped inside, raised the candle, and realized that the objects were actually arranged in neat stacks on top of a familiar set of pool tables.

"You're kidding me." Tony ran a hand through his hair, letting out a laugh-like sigh. "Is this an Asgardian thing? Put your stuff on pool tables instead of shelves?"

He might've assumed that Loki had left his possessions in the state in which he'd found them, but they were much tidier than they had been the last time Tony had seen them. There was a table for gleaming metal, a table for clothes, two tables for books, a table for ominous, unrecognizable objects…

Tony slid among them, looking but not touching. The final table was piled with scraps of paper. He reached for a handful; some were no bigger than his thumbnail, while others were slightly larger than his hand. Most of them bore rows of neatly arrayed symbols that Tony immediately recognized as being unreadable.

A few held small drawings. One or two were two small to make out, but the rest were identifiable as local animals: mice, birds, cats, a few dogs. He shuffled through the layers, grasping for bigger pieces. He found one with ragged edges depicting a tiger, a bear, a lion, a hawk, a rhino, a golden lab, and a kitten. Each one had a miniscule scrap of writing beneath it. Tony admired the details for the half-second it took for him to remember the Zoo challenge.

The surge of excitement brought on by the idea that these contained Loki's plans for the Game was dampened by his inability to decipher the writing. There were few other illustrations to be found (a frame, a pair of sharp-looking glasses, a phone), and peering closely at the writings yielded no results.

Tony dug deeper, not caring if the disarray would be obvious because, hell, he'd _earned_ some answers. If that meant prying into Loki's doodles, then so be it.

By the time he'd reached the bottom, there were no more pictures. In fact, there were no more words – just scraps drenched in ink, as though they'd been dipped into a well.

Next, Tony tried the books, but they were full of runes and bizarre illustrations, and he was getting wax all over his hands from the candle, and there was no sign of the _Book_, so he eventually gave up.

As he exited, the second door presented itself to him. He hesitated a beat longer than he should have for no good reason, then, with a glance towards the living room, headed inside and felt for the light switch. When none presented itself to him, he pried a candle in the hall from its waxy perch, wary of the wax, and lifted it above his head. Even then, the ceiling was lost to the gloom.

His first thought was that his footsteps were unnaturally loud, as though the room was far larger on the inside than the door suggested. The only things he could see were the candles at his feet. So, still with no particular plan, he knelt and lit them one by one, muttering about the dark ages and the stupidity of wicks and wax.

When he rounded the first corner, he glanced up and nearly fell over; this wall wasn't white, as the last had been, but was instead inscribed with black pictures and words in that damn unreadable language. A raven, a bit too large and realistic for Tony's liking, stared out at him.

"Creepy." A chill traversed Tony's spine. He moved on, lighting a few more and looking for pictures. There was a cube, another pair of glasses, a book. Part of the wall was pure black and seemed to writhe in the candlelight.

Tony's own face adorned its center, life-size and surreally lifelike. Stunned, he stared at it long enough that his candle dripped wax on his hand. He turned away, swearing.

The next wall held no pictures, only words and more black splotches. Tony stepped back, looking between it and the other, and something else caught his eye.

Across the room, he could see a vat. It gleamed with practiced subtlety, like tarnished silver.

The silence of the room vibrated, pushing him across the floor to look inside. For a ludicrous moment, Tony balked, mistaking its contents for blood, but upon bringing the candles closer, the liquid was too dark. However, he felt unnaturally certain that the white bowl bobbing in its center was made of bone.

"If this were a horror movie," he mused in a half-hearted attempt to lessen the silence, "I'd poke that stuff, and it would turn out to be magic alien acid that would dissolve me. Or eat me."

The quiet after was worse, though, and Tony walked away with a barely-controlled shiver.

Tony came upon the fourth wall so fast that he nearly dropped his candle. Of course he hadn't seen it; it was painted black, pure, limitless black, so deep that it made his skin itch.

"Love what you've done with the place." Tony's voice felt muffled and false, like something was smothering his attempts at calm. What's worse, he could almost hear a hum emanating from the wall, as though it concealed machinery or bees.

He brought his ear closer until his hair brushed the wall, but he couldn't detect any actual _noise._ Make-believe, he promised himself. Magic. Playing tricks on himself. After all, it had been a long couple of days.

Tony nearly returned to the hallway right then and there. This room had nothing of use, only a creepy Asgardian bathtub. He could search the bedroom or something. Instead of leaving, he brought the candles close to the fourth wall, looking for words, but the black was unbroken.

Unbroken, and still humming.

A sentiment akin to revulsion slithered across Tony's skin, hot and cold and prickly. He should go. He _wanted _to go. Instead, he found himself setting the candles down on the floor and brushing off his palms and listening.

The black trembled, whispering and waiting. Wrong. Something was wrong here, he should go - but what was that _sound?_ The pull towards the door was like a child's tug on a shirtsleeve whereas the drag from the wall was a riptide. Tony's fingertips twitched forward, barely brushing the-

**_-so much darkness, so much, never ending, must be an end, I know it. I cannot turn back, not now, not in the heart of the dark, I cannot..._**

_The inside of a prison, stone beneath his feet, back, fingers. Amora's voice rang out in cruel retellings of punishments past – she favored the tale of the snake - punctuated by grunts and guffaws from Skurge. Still, her venom was a balm after the kindness of Thor and Frigga, ever foolish, ever caring (__**fools, all of you, I never loved you, Frost Giants do not love**__). He could not stay here, would not stay here, not while his enemies knew where he was._

_The energy lay coiled within him, growing stronger, growing faster, growing, growing. Much would be needed, more than he had ever possessed. Journeys such as these were not to be taken lightly…._

**_-coming for me, coming for me, faster, I hear it, trailing and tracking and screaming-_**

_He could feel the fabric of the world, ready to be torn by a soft, careful pinch of magic, a technique known to few others. In Midgard, he could rot and plot and grow in peace. No prison could hold him in Midgard._

_Thanos would not find him in Midgard._

**_-cannot outrun it, the Between was always _****His ****_place, cannot-_**

_Finally, when he felt bloated with the power he hoarded, he tore the veil and dropped into the black. The worlds surrounding him sang out different tunes, vibrating like strings on an instrument. Asgard was deafening, but he could sense Midgard beneath it. But it was far, so terribly far, and the blackness yawned before him._

**_-screaming, screaming, roaring, after me, it's after me, it's- _**

_His body was gone, long gone. Nothing left now but magic and a mind. The song of the Between resonated within him, within the core of energy that was all that remained. Like this, he could fray at the edges, drift into nothingness, become a part of the black… but his will bound him together, kept him whole even as the effort of pushing through the void drained away the magic._

**_-close now, so close, can taste Midgard, but the Beast can taste me-_**

_He focused on the hum of the realm that he neared; a lack of focus invited delirium, especially after minutes, hours, weeks of this. He imagined a whistling, a rushing of air, but there was no air here, in the heart of the Between. Nothing to be breathed, or felt, or heard._

_Then the roar. Like gale winds and death screams and prey and predator and _Beast_, and it was near, too near, and the trickle of fear erupted into a flood-_

**_-can hear it, smell it, taste it, taste the fear, the ice, the death, Thanos spoke true-_**

_He strained forward, but the magic waned, and speed was lost to exhaustion as the thing neared. Midgard was near, so near, but the Beast was nearer._

**_-close, close, please, no, not this, not like this-_**

_Loki tasted air before the Beast caught him._

**_-teeth, all teeth, ripping, gouging, gripping- _**_the pain mounted, and Loki would have screamed had he a mouth, but the Beast's teeth lodged in his _essence_**-digging, slicing, burning, freezing- **__and it pulled him away, back towards that realm, towards Thanos __**–scalding blinding piercing killing **_**dying****_- _**_no, he would not die, not until Thanos had destroyed him __**–no, no, no- **__the pain, such utter pain, like disintegrating from the inside, like being destroyed, decimated, unmade –__**I will not- **__teeth everywhere, everywhere, in the jaws of a Beast _composed_ of teeth –__**I will not die-**__ teeth and shadows and ice and death, death, death, death-_

**_I will not die._**

_Loki ripped himself from the Beast, felt himself stretch and tear, __**tear, **_**tear**_, and then he was free and the agony, the absence-_

_The Beast screamed, and Loki screamed, and the seams of Midgard splintered beneath the sheer force of his will and his _pain_, and he fell, and the shard of his magic fell beside him, loosed from the teeth, and they struck ground- _

_Alone. Alone. Blackness. Agony. Missing. Torn. Broken. Dying. Pain, pain, pain. Broken. Alone. Pain, dying, dying?_

_This must be death. Please, let this be death. Let there be an end._

**_Please_**_._

Tony's fingers were being crushed, but he didn't care, because his heart was beating like it was about to implode and his body felt solid and stable compared to the nonexistent, massless _thing_ that he had just been. He was Tony, Tony, not Loki, not dying, not broken.

He swallowed, shaking, and his eyes met a bone-pale face. Loki's expression was blank, utterly blank, but his eyes blazed in wild rage.

"What did you see?" He whispered softly, so softly, in a voice that was almost gentle.

But Tony's fingers were about to snap, and Loki's eyes were burning, blistering him. His voice came sluggishly. "What was that?"

"_What did you see?_" Loki snarled, the viciousness exploding outward.

Tony stumbled back, wrenching his hand out of Loki's grip and nearly dislocating his wrist. Loki was there, forcing him away from the wall, towards the center of the room, towards the tub of ink-

"Wait-"

But Loki was beyond waiting, beyond listening. One vice-like hand was clamped on Tony's wrist as the other snatched up the white bowl. He strode towards the blank wall and hurled the liquid so that it splattered across it in a violent black smear. Tony had no time to struggle against the superhuman strength that gripped him tight and forced his hand into the center of the black, keeping it there. It was ice, ice and oil, and the ocean from his dream surfaced in his mind, compounding the revulsion and fear.

"Loki, what-"

But the god threw him aside so hard he nearly fell over. He righted himself clumsily, staring. Loki faced the wall and the ink that was… _moving_.

The black contorted and stretched, morphing into strands of words and pictures, pictures of the ax and Amora and a hat with tackle on it and Pepper and manacles-

But those ringed the edges. The center was dominated by a massive black swath, like the void inside his head. Tony inched closer, recognizing the fragments of words that he'd heard (**_coming for me, ripping, gouging, gripping, Thanos, so much darkness_**) as well as others he'd never said, words like **_wolf _**and**_ pawn _**and**_ kiss _**and**_ love _**and**_ Frost Giant _**and**_ team._** It wasn't until he the ink nearest him blossomed into Loki, asleep in his throne, that he understood.

"They're memories," he said before he could catch himself. And then his blood ran cold, because they were _memories_, and he had felt Loki's terror and pain and the blackness and the _teeth_…

Loki stood, seemingly transfixed by the writhing ink. His face held an otherworldly calm. But Tony saw his hands, clenched into fists with ink spilling between fingers and beginning to speckle the floor. Or maybe that wasn't ink.

"This was not your story to know," Loki murmured flatly.

"Loki-"

The god turned to him, but his expression invited no further words. Though Tony stood his ground, he felt as though he was retreating.

Loki pushed back his sleeve and wrapped one hand around his gauntlet. Magic pulsed in Tony's own wrist, and he looked up blankly.

"As the victor of the Third Challenge of the Game, my prize is this: you shall not communicate what you have seen or heard here to anyone." His head tipped to one side. His Gauntlet gleamed red where he had touched it. "I return your right to falsehoods. You will be needing it."

The vice that Tony no longer noticed released his chest. Once of the vices, anyway. "Loki, I didn't mean-"

"Lie not to me, Stark." Loki's voice was calm. That might have been the worst part – he was so _calm_. "Come here."

Tony made it two steps before he realized what he meant. "No. No, I'm not going back in there."

Loki tilted his head again in a wordless question, but Tony could see the cruel understanding in his eyes.

"The Beast is in the Between," Tony burst out, and the words came out _right_ even though they weren't his.

"Yes. It is." Loki lunged, and Tony wasn't fast enough to avoid the grip.

Tony shut his eyes - or maybe they were open. Maybe he was gazing into the abyss, into the teeth-

Then came the roar, worse than he remembered, worse than the nightmare, worse than _death-_

His feet struck the floor a moment before the dizzy spell hit. He gripped something sturdy, fighting nausea, as Loki released his wrist. There was blood on his skin.

Tony reached out blindly, snagging a handful of sleeve. Loki's eyes entered his vision. "I'm _sorry_," he whispered.

"Sorrow changes nothing."

Then he was gone, and Tony was alone in his lab.

* * *

**Questions will be answered soon, but feel free to ask.**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep.**

**P.S.: If you kill me, I can't write the next chapter.**


	36. Chapter 36

**I'm _back!_**

**And I'm so sorry. So, so, so sorry. It's been a really stressful couple of months, and this chapter was the hardest to write by a mile. I can't thank you guys enough for supporting me with your messages here and on tumblr - I'm always torn between laughing and crying when I receive one hoping that I'm not dead. Thank you guys so much - I don't know if I could have done this without you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.**

**(Also, in my hurry to publish this, I didn't edit it too well, so let me know if you see any glaring errors. Or any little errors. And medium ones are good, too...)**

**Warnings: The usual**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Onward!**

* * *

Tony pushed himself upright, gripping the table until he couldn't feel his fingers trembling. He kept his eyes open until they watered, letting the white and silver blur burn the blackness from his mind's eye. The remnant of Loki's terror was acidic on his tongue, sharp and terrible. The memories churned at the edges of his vision, made worse by the fresh remembrance of Loki's rage.

He remembered being nothing. Nothing but a mind and magic, and then being _torn-_

Tony shuddered, pushing it down, away.

He's stumbled upon something deep and dark and awful. That much was clear. Something involving the Beast of teeth and someone named Thanos, someone that Loki feared. Tony shook his head slightly, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before the black memories stirred. He hadn't thought that Loki was afraid of _anyone_ (except maybe Bruce), which meant that this guy had to be seriously bad news.

Or good news, a small voice piped up. After all, "the enemy of my enemy" and all that…

But the thought of the name put a bad taste in Tony's mouth. A person capable of inspiring that much fear in Loki wasn't someone that Tony would play nice with, he was almost certain.

"JARVIS-" Tony croaked out, only to stop. He somehow doubted that a guy with a name like "Thanos" would be in the phone book.

_Sir?_

Shaking his head, Tony ran his fingers through his hair, only to throw his hand down with a curse as he realized that the tremors hadn't gone away. "Nothing. Jesus, I need a drink. A big drink. The granddaddy of all drinks."

_I would advise a certain degree of restraint in regard to your alcohol intake,_ JARVIS recommended, but Tony had already pushed himself towards the sink. His dizziness tilted the floor unpleasantly, but he managed to stay on his feet and open the cabinet beneath, groping for glass. The feel of the bottle under his hand was a comfort in and of itself, and the scotch, though room-temperature, was a familiar, calming caress on the back of his throat. He didn't bother trying to find a tumbler for it.

His fingers had stilled by the second swallow, and by the fourth he could close his eyes without panicking. Breathing deep, he shifted mental gears, consciously pushing away the heart-pounding terror and confusion associated with darkness and the memory of Loki's face, stoic and furious and deadly. He was going to pull a mental muscle if he didn't take a step back from all of the unknowns and confront something he could handle. "How bad is it out there?"

_You will need to be more specific, Sir._

"Have the guys blamed the whole media fiasco on me yet?" Ordinarily, Tony would dread the answer, but somehow, after comparing it to what he'd been through over the past twenty-odd hours, he couldn't bring himself to care.

_The Avengers have not issued an official statement, resulting in a great deal of speculation. Many theories involve alien interaction or cloning._

"Predictable." And relieving. "Is anyone home?"

_None of the Avengers have returned home since the press incident._

"Right." Tony took another drink. "I should probably call so Fury won't have me drugged on sight again." (Not that I don't deserve it, he added mentally).

_That would be advisable._

Rocking the bottle back and forth, Tony watched the sloshing liquid. For a moment, he felt a pang of genuine worry – he'd probably committed treason at some point or another, and he somehow doubted Fury would let him off easy. "Maybe I'll give it an hour or so. Build up some liquid courage."

_That would _not_ be advisable._

"Well, I was only half-asking your opinion," Tony muttered, pressing the bottle against his forehead instinctively to quell his headache. The tepid glass offered little solace.

_If you refuse to address the issue of Director Fury, Sir, perhaps you will prefer to contact Miss Potts. She has left twenty-two messages since your media debacle._

Pepper. That would be a fun conversation.

"Not now, JARVIS."

_I believe she is quite concerned, Sir._

Tony swallowed his retort. Sometimes he regretted programming JARVIS with a chastising tone. "I know she is."

_And it would be cruel to prolong her distress._

"Shut up," Tony grumbled, but it was too late. He could imagine the worry on Pepper's face, deepening every crease and shadowing her eyes, and it made his chest hurt. Waiting wouldn't make it any easier, after all. "Go ahead and call."

_Excellent choice, Sir_, JARVIS congratulated, suddenly cheery. The nearest screen brightened and displayed the call being dialed. Tony glowered at nothing as he lowered himself gingerly into the nearest chair, counting the rings as the call went through.

* * *

Pepper crossed her arms over her chest tightly as she waited on the sidewalk. SHEILD had offered her a ride anywhere she pleased, but after the last fiasco, she preferred to wait for Happy. She would have walked, but she had cargo: Livy's painting rested in its easel at her side. The ruined canvas seemed like a fairly accurate representation of her life.

She could practically feel the knots in her stomach tightening with each minute that Tony was gone. In her handbag, the book she'd found was as obvious as an anvil, daring her to crack it open and find answers for herself – but there was no way she could do that while standing, quite literally, in SHIELD's front yard.

Happy pulled up within minutes, launching questions that she couldn't answer before giving her a rueful half-hug and helping her lift the painting into the rear passenger's seat.

"Where to?" Happy asked, his tone casual. Pepper appreciated it.

"Stark Tower. I need to do some damage control." She grimaced down at her phone. During the hour she'd been at the headquarters, she'd accrued nearly sixty voicemails. "_Major_ damage control."

"You got it."

Pepper was halfway through dialing Andrew's number when her phone buzzed. She let out an exasperated breath through her teeth, meeting Happy's sympathetic look in the rearview mirror, only to let out a strangled gasp when she saw the caller ID.

* * *

"Tony?!"

Her voice was so familiar, even at its high-pitched register of panicked joy, that Tony closed his eyes and smiled. "Hey, Potts. Missed you-"

But Pepper's reply came to quickly and loudly to permit any sort of speech on Tony's end of the conversation. "Tony, where on earth have you _been?_ Are you okay? Did Loki hurt you? What happened? How did you get away? Tell me where you are!"

"Easy, Pepper, I'm okay." The floor tried to tilt again, and Tony shut his eyes tight for a moment. "Well, mostly okay. Sort of okay. I mean, you won't find my picture in the dictionary-"

"Where are you? Where did Loki take you? How did you-"

"I'm at the Mansion. Listen, why don't you come over before SHIELD figures out I'm back and comes knocking? I'll explain everything. Pinky-swear."

"Explain? You mean about before?"

Tony's hand stilled on the bottle. "Before what?"

"You promised you would explain everything after the conference –" Tony cursed silently. The mini-meltdown from earlier had slipped his mind. "-but that can wait. I'll be there as soon as I can, not more than fifteen minutes… Tony?"

"Pepper?"

"Are you really okay?"

Tony laughed a little at that, and his thumb followed the path of the delicate, fresh scar on his cheek. "I will be."

* * *

Fury leaned over Thor's shoulder, narrowed eyes directed towards the god's piece of paper. "You don't know?" The director sighed. "You've been in this city for months, and you can't think of a single place Loki might've stowed his crazy ass away?"

Thor sent him an acidic look, and the director backed off with a grumble.

"We can't issue a PR statement until we have some clue about what we're up against," he muttered, "and we won't know that until we find Loki or Stark – which is looking pretty damn near impossible – or until Loki makes his move, and by then it'll be too little, too late. C'mon, Thor, give me _something_. Loki stole his possessions back a few nights ago. Anything in there that could give us trouble? Magical bombs, beans, anything at all?"

Thor was interrupted by a frazzled-looking Maria Hill bursting through the door. 'Director Fury, Sir, Pepper Potts just received a call from Tony Stark."

Fury was on red-alert in a millisecond. "Do we have a location?"

"It wasn't long enough to be traced properly. We only got the lower half of Manhattan." She strode to the table, setting her laptop down and opening it in one fluid motion. "But listen to this."

The Avengers leaned forward simultaneously as Pepper's voice came over the speaker, clear and distraught.

_"Where are you? Where did Loki take you? How did you-"_

Tony's voice came next, and Bruce exchanged glances with Steve.

_"I'm at the Mansion. Listen, why don't you come over before SHIELD figures out I'm back and comes knocking? I'll explain everything. Pinky-swear."_

Agent Hill paused the recording, gauging Fury's reaction.

"Any agents in the area?" The Director asked, staring down at the computer.

"One unit on the north edge, another on Seventh. Should I give the orders to move in?"

"Tell them to keep an eye out for Ms. Potts and be prepared to storm the castle. We're heading out now. All of us," he added, glancing around at the assembly. "Now. I don't care if it's Stark or Loki. Getting our hands on either one is our biggest priority. Hill, have a van armed and ready by the time we hit the ground floor."

She nodded sharply and headed for the door with Fury on her heels. The others hurried along behind them.

"Sounds like Tony to me," Bruce said quietly as they crowded into an elevator that seemed matchbox-small. Steve nodded and muttered his assent, looking pale. Fury said nothing, and Bruce added, "What will you do if we find him? More drugs?"

Fury sent him a look, coldly focused. "It's not unlikely."

"Loki would call us, not Pepper. This is Tony we're about to attack."

"Fine by me."

"You heard what Pepper said earlier. Tony told her that he was doing this for the team. We should give him a chance to explain before we give him a reason not to trust us." Bruce insisted.

Clint's laugh sounded like grinding gears. "Trust. That's a good one."

The doors opened, and he was the first one out, followed by Hill, who ran ahead to the front doors.

The others moved to follow her, but Fury's voice brought them up short. "Dr. Banner, maybe you should sit this one out."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Have a little faith, Director. Besides," – in one word, he seemed to age a decade – "you might need the Other Guy if Loki shows up."

* * *

Tony ran his fingers over the sides of his bottle, eyes unseeing. Half of his brain was busy calculating how long it would take to get his lab back as it had been prior to the cube incidents. The other half was trying to figure out what to say when he called the team. "Sorry" was probably a must. Maybe a couple verses of "I Had Good Intentions, I Swear" with a refrain of "Loki Made Me Do It".

Then there was that sliver of attention that kept skittering away to Loki, asking over and over again if there was a way to salvage it, if he should bother, if it was too late-

But of course it was too late. Loki had said it a thousand times – Tony was nothing to him. And after seeing his eyes so full of rage and yet so blank, Tony was beginning to believe it.

As he tilted his head back for another long swallow, a familiar green caught his eye. Without thinking, Tony reached out and scooped up the cube, turning it over in his fingers. It wasn't on par with Loki's eyes, but it was close enough. A familiar weight to settle into his stomach, gaining density as Tony's thoughts shifted to what he had seen.

_Sir? Sir, Miss Potts has arrived._

Tony shook himself and blinked at the digital clock projected onto the wall.

"Seven minutes? Wonder how many laws she broke." Tony wrapped his fingers around his bottle, the equivalent of squeezing a reassuring hand, and headed for the elevator. As an afterthought, he pocketed the cube. "Tell her I'm coming through the elevator."

Belatedly, as the doors slid open into the kitchen, Tony noted that he should have had JARVIS tell Pepper not to freak out about how he looked.

She let out a horrified shriek, taking a step back and then forward. "Oh, God, you-"

"I know – the grunge look makes me look fat." He took a quick sip of scotch before nestling the bottle against his temple again, pretending that it was cold enough to make a difference in the status of his headache.

"For the love of God, Tony, put the alcohol down and- and sit down, you look like a corpse." She darted forward, pulling him towards the stools arranged around the kitchen island. Her voice trembled as she continued, forcing him to sit. "Did he hurt you? Should I get the first aid kit?"

Tony focused on her face as she rattled off questions. Her skin had gotten a few shades paler, and the bags beneath her reddened eyes were nearly blue. She still wore the nice, appropriate clothes from the press conference, though they now looked as though they had been worn for a week straight. Her shoes were missing, and her stockings were riddled with runs.

"Nothing to aid, really," he said slowly. "You haven't slept, have you?

"Nothing to aid? You're white as a sheet, Tony. Don't tell me you're not hurt."

"No more than usual. Actually, I'm touched that you would pull an all-nighter for me."

"Tony," Pepper's voice took a turn for the serious. He could hear the beginnings of her exhaustion tingeing her words. "I'm glad you're here, but you have to _talk _to me."

"I know. But finding the right beginning sucks, you know that, it always sucks, even when the ending is good. And this one is about as good as the _Titanic'_s was. Just-" He heaved a sigh when her eyes started to drift suspiciously towards the scotch. "I'm not drunk. Just give me a second. It's not like…" he gestured helplessly with one hand, trying to find the right thread to pull to unravel the story. His other thumb grazed the scars on his cheek, and Pepper's eyes followed the motion, going narrow, then wide. "It wasn't-"

"What is that?"

"I cut myself… not-shaving," he answered as she tilted his face towards the light.

"Tony, are those _scars?_"

There was no time to try to formulate an answer before the massive windows in the living room exploded inward, and a swarm of black-clad SHIELD officers came sweeping into the room, guns aloft. Pepper screamed, and Tony wished he'd had time to have another few drinks.

* * *

The wall loomed, still seething with ink. In its center, the broad swath of perfect black seemed to bend and warp, reaching towards Loki where he stood.

Stark had seen into the ragged mess that his mind had once been. Perhaps he had even felt the breath of the beast.

Emotion roiled in Loki's gut: violent rage, cruel satisfaction that Stark had been punished before his crime had even been completed, something akin to bitterness or hurt-

He took in a breath, reaching for control that never came. His hands clenched and unclenched as though they itched to wring the life from Stark's throat. He had no reason to be surprised at the man's actions, no reason to resent him, no reason to be hurt by him. And yet…

Loki's gaze drifted back to the wall. Stark's thoughts bubbled up, trapped within the ink. An idea took root as he watched, and Loki's rage consolidated into an icy, determined mass just above his heart.

Fair is fair, Stark. You invaded my mind…

He moved forward, eyes drifting closed as he pressed his palm into the ink.

…I shall return the favor.

_The first things to rise were the shared memories of the void. Loki felt Stark's terror like the rasp of sand, accompanied by a whisper of fire – the echoes of his own wild fear. He brushed them aside with a practiced push, groping deeper._

**_-doing the right thing, I swear, I had it under control-_**

_Skin glowed white beneath the polluted light of the city and the storm (__**want answers**__), his chest rose in silent breaths, as though he faked life (__**kiss him awake**__). _Loki's control stuttered, and Stark's thoughts pressed against him greedily. The appreciation, the frustration, the anger, the soft, warm, aching something that made Loki rip away.

**_-not the wolf, not the pawn, not-_**

_The flash of scars in a mirror, the dull ache of compounded bruises, the haze of a memory within a memory. _Stark sighed, and Loki felt his way past it, deeper.

**_-Pepper must be going crazy-_**

_Loki slipped through another layer, finding a boat on a half-fathomed sea. The man in the fisherman's cap made no sense, and there was a bottle in Stark's hand. Meaningless. _The ink rippled against his consciousness as he delved past the dream.

_-__**alone-**_

_Loki felt the precise moment when his resolve was set, when he decided to keep his silence. Amora's smirk, the spinning spool of words that she used to weave her web __**(-Frost Giant, as thought that's supposed to mean something-)**__: Stark did not fall prey to it. His answers were vague, edged in panic and mistrust and the omnipresent wit. _

But that wasn't right. Stark had no reason…

_Love, she said? No, that wasn't right… but there was a hint of fear, of hesitation, a resurgence of the softness._

**_-it's not love, dammit, I would know. I would _****know****_-_**

_Loki shied away, sinking into another._

**_Can't lie. Can't lie, _****fuck****_-_**

_Fury loomed over him in a room made from whiteness. The director's words were lost in the shuffle of his heartbeat. _

**_-team hates me now. Clint's gonna put an arrow through my eye. So what? I was fine without them before, I'll be fine again. I don't care. I don't-_**

The blast of emotion obliterated Loki's control.

**_-what did I do? I swear, I didn't… never heard of any damn seal-_**

_The wind was bitter and knifing. Sunlight streamed over the rooftop. Loki's face was contorted in rage, in fear, and then there were lips on his in a savage press before lifting away, and there was such satisfaction, such _joy_-_

Loki wrenched himself away from the wall and stumbled onto one knee, sweating and gasping. For one awful, lurching moment, all he could feel were Stark's emotions and all he could see were Stark's memories. There were no reserves, no barriers – just pure, blinding emotion carving elation and rage and hope into the insides of his ribs.

But Loki regained control with an internal snap that was almost a stabbing. He forced the sentiment down, away, out of sight and mind. Every last, messy emotion was squashed down into nothing, even the rage he'd felt prior to delving into Stark's mind. Without the roar of blood in his ears and the maelstrom of feeling under his skin, the room was enormous and silent.

Blood trickled over his lip and onto his chin. He didn't remember biting it, but the flesh was torn when he swept his tongue over it. It had healed before he could think about it, and he spared a moment of faint appreciation for the delicate, renewed reservoir of magic that had collected in the pit of his stomach. But it would not last – it never lasted.

Loki pushed himself to his feet, steady despite the tide of thoughts streaming though his mind. He had expected there to be malice in Stark's mind, or at least a hint of vindictiveness. Instead, he had sensed curiosity, anger, frustration, _caring_. He had been wrong. Stark's accidental discovery had, in fact, been an accident.

He slipped into the shadowy hall. There was no point in preoccupying himself with Stark, not during the slim window he had where Amora was too weak to pursue him. There were preparations to make, runes to mark, enchantments to reinforce.

But he stilled before he reached his supplies as his mind slid backwards. He moved half-consciously, slowly, as though he hadn't yet decided to move towards the chest of drawers in his bedroom. But the topmost drawer slid open easily, and Loki withdrew the single object within.

The cufflink was almost warm beneath his fingers, as though it had been expecting him. As Loki ran his thumb over the engraved initials, he thought he could feel something giving way inside his chest.

* * *

"Hold your fire!"

Tony sagged at the voice. "Cap," he turned to face his savior (ignoring the shouted orders from the agents to not move a Goddamned muscle), "You've never looked better."

It was a lie, of course. Steve looked almost as bad as Pepper did. As a matter of fact, all of the Avengers looked rather rag-tag, particularly Thor, whose eye was still swollen and whose arm was still splinted. The god nodded at him sympathetically, and Tony smiled in return.

"Stand down," Steve barked to the agents. At Tony's side, Pepper let out a tense breath. Her eyes were stony and scared all at once.

"Ignore that," Fury called, stepping forward. He'd lost any and all trace of the tolerance he'd once shown Tony.

"Are we honestly believing that this is Loki?"

Tony grinned half-heartedly at the familiar voice. "Hey, Bruce."

"Tony." Bruce nodded, smiling grimly in return.

"Guilty until proven innocent, Doctor."

Tony lifted an eyebrow. "That's not the American way."

Fury crossed his arms over his chest. "It's my way. And as far as I'm concerned, this Mansion is a SHIELD outpost and is therefore under my jurisdiction. So either prove yourself innocent in the next ten seconds, or-"

"Pepper has a birthmark on her hip that looks like Italy upside-down. _Hey-_" He stumbled, dodging Pepper's attempt to stomp on his foot. "You know, if you're so eager to bandage me up, I'm sure you can just wait ten minutes for them to rip me a new one-"

"Miss Potts?" The director raised an inquiring brow.

"I think you've got to show him, Pepper-"

She went crimson and tried to kick Tony's shin.

"Agent Romanoff," Fury tried again, exasperated. Natasha slid away from the pack, moving to shield Pepper from the cloud of agents shifting by the broken windows.

Pepper send Tony a dirty look over Natasha's shoulder. "You could have spouted some physics joke that only Bruce would've gotten, but _no-_"

"It was the first thing that popped into my head," Tony protested, relief washing over him as Natasha nodded to Fury, who nodded to the agents, who stopped pointing their obnoxiously large guns in his direction. "Besides, anyone could tell a physics joke. You'd know it was me if it was a _well-told_ physics joke."

Glass crunched noisily under the boots of the men as they headed out the way they had come. Two stayed by the gaping whole, eyes on Tony.

"So," he said into the silence. "Not innocent, I'm guessing?"

"Congratulations," Fury growled. "You're you. Now put your arms behind your back and let Barton read you your rights."

"Whoa, hold on-" Tony started, taking a step backwards as Clint headed towards him with eyes like arrowheads.

"I'd like to hear what he has to say."

Fury's jaw clenched, and he turned to Bruce. "That's not your call."

"It may not be. However, it's been a long couple of days. I think we would all benefit from getting more information before we make any calls at all."

Tony watched the standoff with awe. He hadn't dared to hope that someone would stand up for him after all that he had put the team through, but Bruce was going toe-to-toe with Fury without breaking a sweat.

"I agree," Steve broke in abruptly, and Tony's gaze snapped towards him. "Tony's a good man. I say we listen before making any decisions."

Fury's face hardened, but before he could speak, Thor knocked heavily on the wall to bring attention to himself and nodded heavily.

"I don't see the harm in getting the story here," Pepper spoke up in a cautious but firm voice. Her chin was raised and her expression was strong, but she was trembling the tiniest bit and trying too hard to not look in the direction of the agents and their guns.

"We can get the story just as easily if he's in a holding cell," Clint snapped, and Tony recoiled from the venom.

"A holding cell which could easily be escaped, as we've observed first-hand," Bruce murmured. "There's no real point, is there?"

Fury stared Bruce down for another few moments before whirling to look at Tony. "Sit down," he commanded. "Leave out any details and I'll let Barton ventilate you."

* * *

Stark left out some details, that much was obvious. Natasha considered drawing attention to the gaps, forcing an explanation, but there was no malice hidden in his eyes. She let it go and focused instead on watching him carefully, observing every gesture and noting every sloppy, haphazard detail of his appearance. Bruises and scratches; hoarse voice, as though he had been shouting (or screaming); dirt-caked, torn clothes but clean hands and face. On top of all that, he was clearly shaken. Whether or not what had occurred was drastic enough to trigger any PTSD was yet to be determined. But now, for the first time since this while mess had started, he was telling them the truth. Or, at the very least, two-thirds of the truth.

As she listened, she couldn't help glancing at Clint to gauge his reactions. He was leaning against the wall as far away from her and Stark as he could possibly be, taking in Stark's story with a scowl that only got darker as it went on. He'd barely spoken a word to her earlier in the day. Ordinarily, she might assume that his response originated from his revelation about Stark, but that didn't explain his silence towards her.

As Tony reached the part of his explanation regarding the Juncture following the Zoo challenge, his mannerisms became more and more skittish. His eyes flicked towards the alcohol, and his words came faster. "Aside from learning how to read Asgardian, there wasn't anything I could do to reverse the spell and win the Challenge. So I called him, and he agreed to turn everyone back-"

"Just like that?" Steve asked. The tension in his body had slowly drained away, leaving behind a tired shell.

"Just like that. Only, you know, giving in meant that he'd won, which meant that he got a… a prize."

Clint spoke up flatly. "The staff."

Stark looked at him, his face laden with a rare look of guilt. "Clint, I swear, if there had been any other way-"

"There was another way. The other way was the one where you decided to clue us in on what was going on and _not _steal the fucking deathstick."

Natasha raised her head slightly, alerted by the tremor at the tail end of Clint's protest. He was more than upset, more than hurt. He was outraged, and struggling to not show it in front of Fury.

"It wasn't that easy," Tony snapped back. "If you break a rule, it's not like you get a slap on the wrist. He could have demanded _anything_, and since there's a magic noose around my neck, it's not like I would've been able to pass him up on it. Hell, he could have asked me to bring him one of your heads on a platter, and I-"

"You what? You couldn't just deal with the consequences of your actions?" Natasha spoke up, but Clint sent her a glare that nearly made her flinch. It said, quite plainly, _I can fight my own Goddamn battles._

"But it was you?" Clint asked, turning back to Tony. "You stole the staff, then came back in time to look us in the eye and deny everything?"

Stark stood his ground, barely. "I did what I thought was right."

Clint stared him down for a long moment, long enough for Stark's eyes to turn pleading and his face to show its exhaustion. By the time Fury cleared his throat expectantly, Clint's eyes had gone dull and bleak. He leaned back against the wall, looking tired.

As Stark went on, Natasha watched Clint's face carefully. His mask had once been flawless, but the stress of the past few days had worn it thin. Beneath lay a tinge of the outrage she had identified earlier, accompanied by bitterness.

He looked up before she had a chance to look away, and she caught sight of bone-deep hurt in his eyes before he schooled them into opacity and turned his gaze away from her. Within her gut, something icy and sharp curled up and settled down for the long haul.

* * *

Bruce listened carefully, nodding in encouragement whenever Tony's gaze landed on him. The story came quickly in parts, as though Tony had been thinking for weeks about the words he wanted to use, but other parts came as though dragged out from deep within by fishing hooks. At other times, Tony would reach a point and his eyes would turn guarded for a fraction of a second before the next piece came unraveled. He was holding something back, but Bruce wasn't about to point it out. No matter what Fury thought, Bruce was certain that Tony was a good man. Any evidence to the contrary was merely circumstantial.

At first, there were frequent interruptions: pointed questions from Fury, hurt queries from Steve, and Clint's single attack. After a while, though, the story took on a hesitant sort of rhythm where Tony added explanations as he went, beating them to the punch. The last interruption came unexpectedly.

"An axe?" Fury burst out, his voice disbelieving. Everyone in the room looked at him in surprise. "You were _summoned _by a blonde woman and a man with an _ax?_"

Tony nodded with exaggerated slowness, confusion evident on his face.

Natasha watched with equal, if better disguised, puzzlement. "Director-?"

"What did they want?"

Tony's brow creased, but he answered anyway. "She wanted to know where Loki was."

"Is that it?"

"No," there was the guarded look, just for a fraction of a second. "She asked about an object, something old. She said Loki was looking for it and wanted to know if I'd seen anything like that."

The look on Fury's face was inscrutable but foreboding. "What did you tell her?"

"Why would I know anything about that? I told her I'm a… pawn. And pawns don't get answers." His face contorted around the word, and Bruce felt a pang of sympathy. He doubted that the others realized how upset Tony was about his lack of control.

Thor banged on the wall loudly enough to make everyone jump. He held up a pad of paper, and Bruce craned his neck to see the three words:

**_Amora and Skurge_**

"Yeah," Tony said warily. "Not friends of yours, I hope?"

Thor shook his head, expression thunderous. He scribbled another word hurriedly:

**_Criminals_**

"Asgardian criminals," Fury muttered, rubbing his forehead. "Just my luck."

"Not to be rude, Director," Natasha spoke up, "but would you mind explaining to the rest of us what's going on?

Bruce leaned forward as the man straightened. "Assuming Stark's telling the truth, the two people who kidnapped him are the same ones responsible for thirteen murders throughout New York City." He shook his head wearily. "Things just got complicated."

* * *

Skurge's eyes opened and closed slowly. Either way, the darkness wrapped around him, smothering him, trickling into his mouth and nose and ears as he breathed and lay still. His chest burned with every inhalation and ached with every exhalation. Any attempt at moving more than an inch in any direction resulted in a sensation of something grinding his bones into dust.

"Amora?" He whispered. His tongue felt thick and leathery. "Amo-"

"Hush."

The word came and went like a flash of light, untouchable and untraceable. Skurge blinked twice before trying again, rumbling, "I need-"

"I said _hush_."

Skurge's mouth closed, the snap of his teeth managing to be loud. The rest of the silence was filled with the shifting of fabric and earth as Amora moved. Then a pause, so still that Skurge tried to hold his breath before his chest protested. Amora's voice drifted towards him from across the dirt, words lost, tone cautious and incredulous.

Magic flared, pale green and blinding, and Skurge blinked furiously. It hung in the air, twisting lazily and illuminating the cave. Amora's back faced him. Silhouetted against the green, her hands moved in steady grasping motions, as though she was attempting to wring water from the air. The light intensified; veins of whiter, brighter green flared and popped silently, burning Skurge's eyes.

Then Amora gasped and the air in the cave pulled against Skurge's skin and the magic went white, pure white. He squeezed his eyes shut against the glare, blinking away the tears that rose in response, but it had changed again by the time his vision had returned.

The magic hung in the air like mist, like nebulas. It curled and uncurled in a regular, unhurried pattern. Pinpricks of green stretched the length of the cave, hovering even around Skurge's head. Some drifted alone, whereas others shivered in clusters. But they had changed – they were a dark, less familiar green. Amora let out a wild laugh.

"What-"

She whirled to face him, her face monstrous in the glow. "Loki is bleeding."

Skurge squinted at the ground beside his face but saw no blood. Amora cackled again.

"No, no," she spun, dispelling the clumps of particles nearest her. "He's bleeding _magic_."

Skurge pondered that slowly. As far as he could tell, magic wasn't like blood and could not be bled. "How?"

"A wound that never healed," she whispered, running her fingers through the fields of pinpricks with an expression of glee. "And will never get a chance to."

"But-"

"What does it matter?" She snapped, suddenly feral. "If he bleeds, he leaves a trail. At when we find him at its end…." Her face congealed into a smile. "Then we shall have what we seek."

* * *

**It's good to be back... ;)**

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep**


	37. Chapter 37

**Hello, Lovelies!**

**I can't thank you all enough for your support over the past few weeks. It's been rough, and I really appreciate every review and message, especially now. Thank you so much!**

**I won't slow you down - I just want to add that this might be my favorite chapter to date. AND, last Friday was the one-year anniversary of the story. I'm not crying, I swear...**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Warnings: The usual.**

* * *

"Are they with Loki or aren't they?" Clint's eyebrows were drawn together as he thought. "Maybe we could work with them-"

"Definitely not," Tony interrupted, blood pounding in his head.

"But you know the saying, the enemy of my enemy-"

"-_criminals_, Clint-" Natasha broke in.

"-it was just a _question_-"

"Guys-" Steve eyed the proceedings uncomfortably, but his words were cut off by Thor's banging on the wall as he waved another piece of paper. Tony's eyes slipped shut and he splayed a hand against his forehead, trying to stifle the pulses of pain. Pepper's voice entered the fray, asking if he was alright.

"That's _enough_."

His eyes opened to see Fury glaring around at the assembly. "Here's what we're going to do," Fury began. Tony gritted his teeth and braced himself. "Agents Romanoff and Barton, you two hunker down and find me a cover story. If nothing else looks good, just drag Stark's name through the mud until people stop looking our way. Captain Rogers and Miss Potts, you two will hold a press conference first thing tomorrow with whatever is decided-"

"A conference? Really? Last time I checked, Loki had a soft spot for those." Tony met Fury's icy look without flinching.

"Do we have a reason to be worried?"

That was quite a question. Loki had certainly been pissed, but Tony doubted that he would try anything so soon. "Nothing to worry about on his end, though I'd prefer that my name stayed as un-muddy as possible."

"No promises," Clint muttered.

Fury's gaze didn't waver from Tony's. "You sure about that?"

Sort of. "Yeah. Seriously, he's wiped, too. All that manipulating and scheming really saps a guy's energy."

"I see. Well, while everyone else is thinking of a decent lie – which is actually _your_ specialty, now that I think about it – you and Thor will come back to base with me and go through a full debriefing on Loki and these new Asgardians."

Tony straightened, and Fury watched and waited for the outburst. "I've spilled all of my beans on Beauty and the Beast. The mime extraordinaire over there has your answers, not me."

"Just because you handed over the beans doesn't mean there isn't something else up your sleeves."

His skull was too tight. He took a deep breath, and the pressure spread to his chest. "Take me at my word for once."

"I might've before the start of all this. But your word isn't what it used to be, Stark." Fury's remarks were like fangs disguised as feathers, light and airy and drenched in venom.

Tony's grip on the table was a chokehold, and something taut inside him snapped in two. "Alright, let's get something straight here, because it doesn't seem like you're understanding what I'm saying. I lied because I thought it was the best course of action, and I know deception eats you up inside when you're on the wrong end of it, but get over yourself. You think you're entitled to a little angst because I abandoned you to a press frenzy? Trust me, you didn't get the short end of the stick. But after you know what it's like to get shoved into a situation like this one, where you've got no control and no idea what the fuck you're doing and no idea about how to fix anything, _then _we can talk. After you get dragged in and out of God-knows-where by Loki, after some Asgardian psycho hauls you into a cave and tries to burn your face off, after-"

"A cave?"

Pepper's voice came softly, but it was enough to yank Tony out of his tirade. A glance at her showed budding horror amid the concern. He looked away, but no one else was much better. Steve and Bruce were wide-eyed, and the identical poker faces worn by Clint, Natasha, and Fury were tinted with the beginnings of uncertainty.

Thor banged on the wall, startling them out of their stillness as he thrust another paper at them.

**_Cave?_**

"Yeah. Cave. And no, I couldn't find it again." Tony reached for his drink with a hand that shook, ignoring the pressure of the gazes as he drained it and slammed it back down to the counter. "So I'm done. Drag my name through the mud all you want, throw me to the dogs, but I'm done." He turned and headed for the elevator, not waiting for anyone to come after him. No one stopped him.

* * *

Natasha watched Stark vanish into the elevator, noting the stiffness of his movements and the harried set of his shoulders and jaw. He'd reached a breaking point, whether through Fury's direction or his own experiences at Loki's hands or a cocktail of the two.

Fury addressed her first. "You'll watch him?"

She nodded. The director's command wasn't unexpected, but it was milder than she had anticipated. Perhaps Stark's words had struck a nerve.

"See if you can get anything else from him when you see him again. Notice any discrepancies, tell me first."

"Of course."

"What about me?" Clint's voice was cool, level, appropriate, but his eyes were empty.

Fury sent him a quick, evaluating look before nodding. "The same. Just make sure you don't shoot him anywhere the camera might see."

"I'm afraid I'll have to insist on some discretion, Director." Bruce didn't move from the fringe of the room, yet he suddenly became the center of attention. "Tony has been through enough. More than enough, if that-" he gestured towards the elevator doors, "-was anything to go by. We should let him talk on his own terms."

Fury drew himself up like an alley cat, only to deflate into wariness as he remembered his opponent. "All due respect, _doctor_," he intoned through gritted teeth, "but Stark-"

"Is an Avenger. A traumatized Avenger. He's earned our trust, and he's got every right to cash in at this point." Bruce's voice was too calm to be natural, and a thrill of anxiety bit into Natasha's nerves.

If Fury heard it too, he gave no sign, but at last, he gave Natasha a terse glance that she clearly interpreted as _Orders stay the same, Agent. _He looked towards Thor. "Are you coming back for the debriefing, or not?"

Thor nodded his assent, eyes determined. Before he followed Fury to the door, he scribbled something furiously onto a piece of paper and handed it to Bruce, who read and pocketed it with a murmur of assent. Natasha watched the doctor as his eyes tracked Thor to the entryway. His face gave away nothing. As soon as the door slammed shut, he let out a soft sigh and pulled off his glasses, digging his fingers into his eyes and the bridge of his nose.

"I know I've been out of the loop for a while," he said tiredly, "but was that called for? Any of that?"

"Of course it was." Clint's voice, cold and firm, drew Natasha's attention away from Bruce. "Tony made his choices, and he chose wrong. Any consequences of that are his own fault. There's no room for slack."

"I don't-" Pepper's words caught in her throat, and she coughed once before continuing carefully. "I don't think Tony ever meant for any of this to happen. When we talked before the conference, he was upset. His lab looked like a war zone." She shook her head. "Whatever's happening, he needs you. All of you."

Clint shifted like a tiger, all bunching muscles and the threat of a pounce. "He dug his own grave. Even if he started out with good intentions, like he says, he should have told us about his involvement the second he had a chance. The way he _lied_…" His lips were white and thin as he paused. "He had no right. I can't imagine how he could justify this to himself."

"I can."

All eyes fastened onto Natasha, and she lifted her chin in response. "This, all of this, reminds me of when he was dying. He never complained, never shared it with anyone, never asked for help. Once it reached a certain point, he just accepted that it was going to happen whether he liked it or not, and he handled it as best he could. It's all in his head – some inherent combination of the need to be a hero and the need to suffer alone, to punish himself. He's coming apart at the seams, and he copes by keeping his cards close. He's not the type to own up to his mistakes until after he's had a chance to fix them."

She looked to Pepper for confirmation, but the other woman just looked vaguely nauseous. Steve's eyes were locked on the kitchen counter, and the dejected look on his face hinted at a feeling of failure (the heart again, getting in his way). Bruce's expression had only shifted slightly to reflect sadness as well as pensiveness.

Clint, on the other hand, was looking at her as though she had set fire to his quiver.

"We can indulge Stark's issues when they don't lead to press disasters and Loki getting away."

Her jaw clenched. "I wasn't saying that we should _indulge_ him, I was trying to help us _understand_ him."

"He lied. What more is there to understand?" There were fuses lit behind his eyes, and his voice began to rise. "He lied, and Loki ended up with his staff, and we ended up drugged and helpless in a warehouse, and _he could have stopped it_. He could have warned us, or asked for our help, or something. _Anything_."

"He said he had no choice. That if he broke a rule, Loki could demand anything." She didn't want to defend Stark, but the accusation in Clint's tone was slowly shredding her patience. The instinctive retaliation was inextinguishable.

"And what about your choice?" His eyes were fierce and bitter in the face of her masked shock. "You knew something was wrong, _really_ wrong with Tony before any of the rest of us. You could have told me."

"That is _highly_ unprofessional-" she snapped.

"What the hell does professional have to do with it?"

Steve cleared his throat, eyes darting uneasily between the pair of them. Natasha ignored him.

"I was doing my _job_, Clint. You can't hold a grudge over me following orders."

"I can." The words rang out like a slap. "We're partners. Does that even mean anything to you anymore?"

"We weren't partners in this."

"_Bullshit_," he spat. "Just because Fury made you pinky-promise not to tell doesn't mean anything between us. You've broken rules before, and this was as good a time as any to break them again. This was _Tony._"

"And that's the exact reason why Fury didn't think you could handle it. Clearly, he was mistaken." Her voice took on dangerous levels of ice even as her blood boiled.

"I don't give a damn what Fury thought. If you had thought I could handle it, you would have told me. It's that simple." Tension hummed through his body like it was a bowstring. "Just admit it. You didn't think I could take it."

The fire in his voice ate away at her composure. "I followed orders-"

"_Admit it_."

"Why?" Her cry neared a shout, but he didn't flinch. "Do you just want to hear me say it? Will that make you happy? Because I agreed with Fury. I didn't think you could handle it. I thought that you were in too deep with Stark because he was your pal, and your blind spot was so massive that you couldn't even see what was right in front of your nose. He was lying constantly, slinking around like a dog, and you were eating it up. Your guard was so far down, Stark could have slit your throat and you would've smiled your way through it. That's what I thought, and you know what? I'm not sorry. I used my judgment, and I did my job, and you need to accept that."

Her breathing was loud in the silence that ensued. Clint's face was utterly detached, betraying nothing and everything, and the others displayed varying layers of shock and discomfort.

_Pardon me,_ JARVIS cut in from above,_ but Mister Stark wishes to express his displeasure with his broken-in door, and would like you all to know that he will be forwarding the bill to SHIELD at his earliest convenience. Please note that this is a paraphrasing due to the ungentlemanly word choice and generally unkind epithets. Thank you._

As he went silent, Clint straightened and moved away from the counter and towards the elevator. "Come on. We've got a cover story to fabricate."

Natasha tracked his progress across the room with unforgiving eyes, trying to slow her heart rate. The fact that a few words from Clint were able to shake her control suggested something that she wasn't ready to hear. She turned to Pepper, ignoring how the other woman wouldn't quite meet her eyes, and said, "Stark trusts you most. Check on him after he's had a chance to cool off."

Pepper cleared her throat. "I'm not going to report back to you."

"I know." She received a nod and a bleak smile before she turned to catch the elevator. Clint held the door for her, but his gaze was directed straight ahead.

* * *

Tony stood beneath the spray of his shower and tried to forget to feel guilty. After the anger had weakened and faded along with his headache, that's what he'd been left with. The guilt that had squeezed in alongside the fury and permeated his blood, bones, lungs. It had caught him off guard; he'd forgotten to feel it until he'd seen the look in Clint's eyes. At that point, it had hit him full force. The impact of every lie that had chipped away what had once been a friendship.

His skin stung heavily where he'd been scraped or sliced or diced, and the burn brought a subtle satisfaction. Anything to take his mind off of the dark looks and dark places in his mind. Anything to remind him that he was alive, and not falling through the Between.

When he stepped out, his limbs felt heavy, but the hot water had eased the aches in his muscles. It should have brought a small comfort, but anything like comfort was squashed beneath his disbelief as the steam cleared and he saw his full reflection in the mirror for the first time in days.

There were bruises everywhere, ranging from yellow-ringed lavender on his neck to the brightest blue-violet on his upper arms, where Skurge had held him in place for Amora. Others were little more than purple smudges on his temple, his knees, his hip. Some he could place, but the majority were mysteries. His wrists were a mess of purple handprints, reminders of Loki's fickle temper. A particularly fresh one consisted of clearly defined, reddish fingers streaking along his skin from the god's most recent bout of rage. Tony poked it gingerly and winced. They needed to have a talk about not gripping _quite_ so hard.

Scratches and cuts adorned his left leg, and it took him a moment to recall the ragged edges of Amora's metal seal digging into his skin. The inside of one elbow had a puncture from the IV he'd gotten at SHIELD's headquarters, there was a lump on his head he couldn't remember getting, and every joint _ached_.

But one thing above all else caught his eye.

On the outside of his right leg, a stripe of white, puckered skin stretched from ankle to mid-thigh. His mouth went dry as he bent to touch it: though it was dry, it was chilled and leathery. It took a moment for him to realize that he couldn't feel his own touch, as though the skin had gone numb.

Or dead.

His hand fluttered away from the skin, trembling again, and he struggled to evict that thought from his mind. Another swept into the vacancy: the memory of falling through the black, helpless and terrified, as the Beast screamed and sliced past him, past his leg-"

His palm stung sharply, bringing him back to the present. Unclenching his hand, he saw raw, scraped skin overlaid with a faint bruise, freshly traumatized all over again.

"JARVIS," he called out. His voice was only a fraction as unsteady as he'd feared it would be. "Next time I come back with more than eighty percent of my body bruised, euthanize me."

_I believe you are only at thirty-nine percent at present, Sir._

"Whatever you say."

_Shall I request ice packs from Miss Potts?_

"No. Not right now," he conceded, urged by the ungentle throbbing in his head.

_As you wish, Sir._

He met his own gaze in the mirror. The thought of talking to Pepper, seeing concern he didn't deserve in her eyes, brought sigh that was heavy enough to hurt, but he set the sensation aside as he reached for his electric razor. Procrastination always helped.

As he was rinsing foam from his face, the back of his neck prickled, and a blur of black leather caught his eye.

He whirled with a half-strangled shout and thrust the whirring razor outwards with one hand, grappling for a towel with the other. He waited for a blow or an incantation.

Loki raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"_Jesus_, what-" the towel threatened to slip from his fingers, and he tightened his grip. "What are you _doing?_"

Loki clasped his hands behind his back. His expression was cool, but his eyes glittered. "Visiting. Obviously."

"Well, you should have called first." Tony's heart was lodged in his throat and was doing its best to gallop away.

"Perhaps."

"No, not _perhaps_. You call first, and then your host has a chance to put on clothes. Unless it's _that_ kind of call, which this clearly isn't-"

Loki's head tilted, and a bemused smile graced his face. "_That_ kind of call?"

Tony gaped for a moment, trying to reconcile Loki's smile with the enraged stoicism he'd last seen on the god's face. "No, no, _no_, I am not explaining the concept of the booty call to you. Google it."

_Sir, shall I alert the Avengers to the presence of-?_

"Not unless things get bloody, JARVIS. And," he addressed Loki, "if you're here to kill me, you should know, the monks trained me in the art of… violent grooming," he finished lamely, waving the still-buzzing razor for emphasis.

Loki's eyes tracked the motion, unconcerned. "Kill you? I wouldn't dream of it."

"Kill me, maim me, there's only so much difference."

"It seems you've endured punishment enough." Loki's gaze flicked down his body, lingering on his arc reactor before continuing, and Tony stifled an indignant sound. "Either that, or you are infinitely more fragile than I've been led to believe."

Of course. He was looking at the bruises, nothing more. Tony struggled to summon some semblance of dignity, straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin. "I'm not _fragile_, I'm just not from Krypton like the rest of you."

"I am of Asgard, not-"

"That's not the point. Look, are you here for a reason or did you want to ogle me?"

Loki folded his arms in front of his chest, and a gleam in his eye made Tony's hand tighten on the towel. (He _refused_ to be turned on right now). "So suspicious, Stark."

"_I'm _suspicious? You just showed up unannounced a couple hours after I poked my nose into your little shop of nightmares. To hell with suspicious, I'm shocked that I still have a head."

The buzzing of the razor seemed impossibly loud in the moment of silence that followed, and he turned it off after a slight hesitation. Loki's face had become a bit more somber, but it was nowhere near the all-consuming rage that it had worn last time Tony had seen him.

"It was not your intention to intrude. Punishment for an accidental fault would accomplish nothing."

Tony stared. "Seriously?"

"Of course."

"Seriously."

"Yes."

"_Seriously._"

"Stark-"

"Hey, you can't blame me for making sure. I'm all for the whole forgiveness-thing, but last time I checked, you… weren't."

Loki's smile returned, shocking Tony into silence. "Learn to accept a boon when you encounter one."

"Right. I'll do that." He swallowed. "Are you going to tell me why you _are_ here, if not to exact your cruel vengeance?

"Perhaps," Loki stepped forward, and Tony jerked the razor up a couple of inches, "I came, as you said, to _ogle_ you."

"You-" the counter dug into Tony's bare back, and he floundered for a response as Loki drew nearer. "Well, that's- I mean, that's just-"

The sly smile stopped him cold. "I jest."

The razor dipped a few inches before returning to its former height, and Tony let out his breath. "Right. I knew that."

"I am here for purely selfish reasons." Loki turned his palm towards the ceiling, and what looked like a black knitting needle manifested in his hand.

"Whoa- sorry, this is a probe-free zone. You're supposed to check those at the door."

Loki took a step forward, and Tony switched the razor on threateningly.

"Nothing overly sinister, I assure you – I merely require a favor. Now, give me your hand.

"Um. No." He tried to take a step back, but the counter stopped him short. He found himself wishing he'd installed a suit in his shower like he'd been meaning to. "Either you're about do drag me back into hell, or you're going to stab me or God-knows-what with that thing. I've been probe-free for seven years, and that's not a streak I'm looking to break."

Loki eyed him for a moment before his gaze went skyward, and he sighed. "You realize, of course, that permission is a technicality."

There was no time to process before Loki rushed forward, knocking the razor from Tony's hand and catching the arm that swung up to strike his face. Tony's curse came out strangled as he kicked with one leg, connecting solidly with Loki's shin in an utterly ineffective blow. Loki eyed him in amusement, grip tightening on Tony's forearms as he struggled.

"Be still."

"How about _no_." Tony kicked out again, and Loki stepped on his toes. "_Ow_- look, I know I messed up, but killing me won't solve anything, trust me-"

A sigh gusted across his face, and his words died as leather brushed against his thighs. His mouth went dry.

"You've grown more incompetent since our parting. That, or 'favor' is Midgardian slang for something horrific… hold still, Stark."

"It's slang for 'never trust the God of Lies when he has a reason to want your head on a plate'." The towel was pinned between them, barely clinging to Tony's skin. It threatened to slip as he struggled against the god's hold, and the distraction was enough to allow Loki to dig the knitting needle into the middle of his palm. "_Ouch_-"

"Hush."

Loki's face hovered above his, and if he hadn't just been stabbed by an unknown object, Tony would have had a hard time ignoring the slip of leather and metal against his skin. As it was, all he could do was shove ineffectively against Loki's shoulder with his not-impaled hand and snap more curses.

"There." Loki's tone was smug as he removed the needle, released Tony's wrists, and stepped out of swinging range. Tony grappled for the razor again and slapped a hand over the top edge of the towel before it could sink any lower. "Was that not a trifle?"

"That depends." He glanced at the welling red droplet on his hand. "If I'm about to keel over from whatever that was, then I'd say no, not exactly trifle-material."

Loki's sigh was riddled with disdain. "I assure you, your plight was not in vain, nor will it be the death of you. Cease your squalling."

Without taking his eyes off of Loki, he slowly set his razor on the counter and wrapped the towel properly around his waist. "First of all, I wasn't _squalling._ Second of all, even if I had been squalling, I think I would have some right to it after all that… that." He gestured vaguely at Loki, ignoring the god's amusement.

"I assumed that taking the blood would be faster than arguing over it with you. Now, if you would excuse me…"

Tony stared after him as he turned and left the bathroom without looking back. His hand stung, his veins buzzed with adrenaline, and he may or may not have been turned on. After a beat, he swore, adjusted the towel, and followed.

Loki's back faced him as he faced the wall beside Tony's desk; Tony couldn't discern what he was doing. He crossed his arms over the reactor and cleared his throat.

"You're giving me whiplash, here."

He waited, but no explanation was offered. Eyeing him, Tony sidled towards his dresser and eased open the bottom drawer, relieved that Pepper still put away his laundry. Once he'd slipped on the first two things he touched – a Metallica T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants - he eased toward Loki.

The god's hand moved in quick, minute gestures, and a trail of foreign symbols or letters followed his motions. Tony slipped closer without intending to, trying for a better look. The squiggles were black and tiny, arcing in the beginnings of a wide circle with the exception of a single, blood-red character in the very center. They emanated from the knitting needle nestled in Loki's long fingers like a pencil. Loki went at a steady but deliberate pace, and he showed no signs of acknowledging Tony's presence.

He cleared his throat. "Most people ask before redecorating." Loki offered no answer, and he went on aimlessly. "Then again, most people ask before taking blood samples. I should just stop with the whole surprised thing, shouldn't I?" Falling silent, he watched the stick move. It made no sound and seemed to glide above the wall rather than across it. He moved to lean against the wall, eyeing Loki as he did and receiving no attention in return.

"I've still got questions, you know."

Loki's expression darkened before evening out, but he gave no other indication that he was listening.

"I still don't know why Amora and Skurge nabbed me. I don't know why you bothered to save me. I don't know what the point of the Game is, or why you picked me in the first place, or why you're graffiti-ing my wall." Tony reached for the nearest bottle on his desk – a half-empty scotch that had been open for God-knows-how-long – and took a swig before making a face. "So you can just pick one. Any which one. I don't even care anymore, just… go bananas. Give me hints, give me boring backstory, give me your best red velvet cake recipe, anything. But I've earned something."

No response. Loki completed the circle, only to begin another one within the first.

"You don't believe me?" Tony took another gulp. "I've got the bruises to prove it. Washed off the blood, sweat, and tears just now, I'm afraid, but if I'm not careful, people are going to start mistaking me for Barney." He paused and shrugged. "I guess you saw."

"It is insurance."

Tony blinked at him. "Oh. You know, I heard All-State's policies were a bit out of the box, but I didn't think they'd resorted to…" he gestured idly at the wall. "…that."

Loki's eyes hadn't left the wall, but the words came steadily. "Should my primary den be compromised, I will require a separate location to use as a sanctuary."

A laugh snuck up on him, and he nearly choked. "And you picked my bedroom."

"Why not?" His hand moved more quickly – the second ring was nearly complete. "It is reinforced physically, structurally, as well as being home to – in your words – Earth's Mightiest Heroes. In the instance of my protections failing, this is the least likely place for me to seek refuge."

He puzzled over that for a minute, rambling senselessly even as his gears began to turn in earnest. "And by doodling on my wall, you're making the space your own, which will make the transition easier when you're forced to stay here…?"

"They are Runes, Stark, not to be taken lightly." Loki began a third circle, not sparing Tony a look. "Passive magic, intended to mask a presence."

"Your presence."

"Exactly."

"Which is why you needed _my_ blood."

Loki's hand stilled for a fraction of a moment before continuing its work, but it was enough to speed up the gears. "Runic magic requires a spark to wake it."

"Right, of course. And you used my blood because…?"

"You were available."

"Gotcha. I mean, hey, no argument here. I've used that excuse more times than I can count. But you made it seem like you needed my blood specifically. At least, that's how it seemed in the bathroom, what with all the grabbing and wrestling. Oh, hang on – this isn't a Blood-Of-A-Virgin thing, is it? Because if it is, you've _really _got the wrong guy, Steve is downstairs-"

Loki finished the third circle and turned to face him with a gaze like flint. "If you have no reason to speak aside from appreciating the cadence of your own words, I ask that you desist. Immediately."

"'Sound of your own voice'. That's what we say here. And no, I had a point. My point," He rocked the bottle slowly before raising it to his lips in a swift jerk, "is that you're full of shit."

Loki recoiled stiffly. "I what?"

"You're full of shit." Tony set the bottle down on the desk and crossed his arms. "You could have picked anywhere to be your backup base. A warehouse, a sewer, a sweatshop halfway across the world. But you picked here, which is a stupid idea, because this is a house full of enemies. Which makes absolutely no sense, because you're Mr. Chess. Every move has a motive, everything pans out into something bigger, but this? Not the best idea by a long shot, and yet, somehow, that didn't stop you. Because this isn't a base for you, this is a base for me. Which is why you needed my blood. Which means that you're going out of your way to take care of me."

"Quite a theory." His words were sharp, clipped, disparaging, but Tony cut him off anyway.

"I'm not done. You wouldn't do that, any of that, unless, a) me dying would interfere with some plan of yours, in which case you wouldn't go out of your way to throw me off track, b) you're actually setting up an elaborate murder for me, in which case you wouldn't bother talking to me, which leaves c) you're just taking care of me out of the goodness of your heart. Which is weird, because popular opinion tells me you don't have one."

Long fingers flexed around the writing implement, and Tony thought it might snap. Loki's eyes were quiet and dark.

"And your opinion?"

He stared for a long minute. Loki's face was perfectly dead of emotion, and for a second, he wondered if the question had been a product of his overtired imagination. "What?"

"Popular opinion, you said." His head tilted slowly. "If you are to believe your own argument, then you must disagree."

Tony had the unshakable feeling that Loki's expression wouldn't change no matter what he said or did, as though Loki had peeked at his cards and was now waiting patiently for him to bluff or fold. His chin tilted up in a challenge. "You know what I think."

"Yes." Though he didn't move, Tony had the sense that he was smiling. "I do."

"But it doesn't matter." He managed to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"It might."

"But it _doesn't_. Don't give me that look," he snapped as Loki raised a condescending brow. "You've said it yourself enough times. More than enough."

"You never believed the words." His head tilted again. "Or so it seemed."

"You lie as often as you breathe. I never know what to believe."

Any trace of goodwill vanished from his features, and Loki bared his teeth in a savage smile. "And yet, you listen to the liar. Why, if not to search for truth? Is it to indulge me? To unravel me? Or are you simply listening for a word to confirm what you wish to be truth?" He waited with deadly anticipation, every aspect of his attention locked onto Tony. "Why?"

"You have a heart."

Tony watched as Loki's mouth dipped into a frown as he took that in. "You asked me what I thought. That's what I think. That's why I listen. I think you have a heart, and I think that somewhere, deep down, there's a molecule that has a soft spot for me. And I think that even though that scares the hell out of you," he took a step forward, "you're starting to accept that."

"Wishes," Loki sneered, but there was no real bite to the word. He didn't retreat from Tony's approach. "And wishes only. Have you no sense?"

"Just stop." He was an arm's length away, and Tony's heart threatened to fall out of his chest. "There's no point anymore."

Loki's face hadn't softened, but it hadn't donned the empty mask, either. He studied Tony openly, eyes narrow as they appraised his face. Goosebumps laced his arms and neck as the gaze traversed them.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

His brow folded, and Tony saw something in his expression shift to bewildered urgency. "Why do you…"

The word died on Loki's lips, but not before Tony could catch it.

_Care?_

He swallowed. There was a foot between them, and he was close enough to see the self-loathing trickling through the cracks in Loki's armor. There were words, he was sure of it, but none of them felt good enough or new enough or right enough. "Fascinating" wouldn't cut it this time. The moments skidded by too quickly, and Loki's face began to close off as the silence stretched on, but before he had the chance to back away, Tony darted forward and crushed their lips together.

Loki was unmoving, unresponsive even as Tony tried to pour every confused, deep-rooted emotion into the kiss. His blood was too hot and his breathing too loud, whereas Loki wasn't breathing at all. But when Tony pulled back, his eyes were closed, and after a moment, a cool breath gusted against his lips.

"Stark-"

Tony slid a hand around the back of Loki's neck and pulled him in again. This time, the response was immediate as Loki kissed him back with a surrender that was an attack, forcing his lips apart and sliding his tongue against the roof of Tony's mouth. One hand buried itself in Tony's hair as the other one circled his waist, pulling him sharply against leather and metal. His grip on Loki's neck tightened, and he shivered as Loki's teeth scraped his upper lip. His thoughts blurred into a mess of exhilaration and disbelief and swelling relief and _Loki_. It was as violent a kiss as their first, from the roof, but now there was a layer of promise, of acceptance, of giving in. The softness was implied even as Loki's fingers dug in too hard and his teeth drew blood.

His back met the wall in a jarring impact, and he nearly bit Loki's tongue in half as his bruises protested. A soft growl sent a jolt of blood straight to his groin. Loki's body aligned with his, and through the bulk of the armor, Tony could tell that they fit. One hand found the edge of he T-shirt and swept underneath, running up his side and leaving goosebumps in its wake. His own hands scrabbled against buckles and plates, but he quickly abandoned them in favor of digging one into feather-soft hair and cupping his jaw with the other. The skin there was like velvet sheathing steel.

Loki bit his lip hard enough to make Tony's toes curl, and he responded by pressing closer and sliding his tongue against Loki's. And Loki curled his tongue around Tony's, and holy _shit_, no wonder people called him Silvertongue, and Tony's wasn't one to go weak-kneed, but damn it if he wasn't hanging on for dear life. He kissed back as hard as he could, and there was almost certainly too much teeth, and his bruises were trying to kill him, but his chest felt like it was going to explode and Loki's hands were clutching him like a lifeline – his back, his neck, his cheek – and every breath tasted like magic and mint and Loki-

Loki pulled back, staring. Tony stared back at him, dazed, before realizing that the god's eyes were focused on his cheek, the one marked by Amora's magic. He tried to catch his breath, waiting for Loki's move.

His thumb traced one of the lines, and his reddened mouth worked for a moment before his eyes met Tony's with a look that was a thousand apologies and a hundred promises of death for the perpetrator. A thrill of something sweet and wild fluttered inside Tony's gut.

Loki leaned in slowly, carefully, and Tony's eyes closed as lips touched the corner of his mouth. He laid a trail of delicate, feathery kisses along the scar's length, the antithesis of the ferocity he had shown previously. When he reached the tip, he reversed his direction, and Tony turned his head to meet him midway.

This time, Loki's motions retained their gentility. He tilted Tony's head up with one hand, keeping the kiss chaste for a moment of quiet, simple bliss. Tony's grip on his neck had softened to a caress as he stroked the nape of Loki's neck with his fingertips. A hand slid along his side in a lazy, discreet motion, coming to rest on his hip as Loki's tongue rasped against his lower lip, then followed with a bite that started out soft and steadily intensified.

And just like that, all bets were off. Tony shuddered and surged into the kiss, and Loki's hand tightened on his hip as the god answered him in kind. His heart rate spiked further still, and he stood on his toes as Loki's other hand slid to his lower back and pulled him forward, eliminating what little space had remained between them. Tony's bruises protested, but he pressed the length of his body against Loki's and tilted his head, battling the god's tongue and stealing his oxygen and nudging a thigh between his knees-

"_Tony!_"

Loki ripped himself away and Tony floundered, gasping for air and trying to place the voice. When he did, his stomach dropped.

Pepper stood in the doorway with a briefcase in one hand and an empty coffee mug in the other. A black stain spread through the carpet at her feet as she gaped, choking. Before he had a chance to open his mouth, she bolted.

Tony's heart dropped through the floor, and he made a snap decision and dashed after her. If she told the team before he got to her, it would be the end of any remaining semblance of trust they had for him.

"Pepper! Pepper, wait, _stop-_" Ahead of him, she put on a burst of speed. "You don't understand- Pepper_, please!_"

She had a head start, but he had more to lose. When she skidded on the carpet and fell to one knee four feet from the elevators, he caught up and reached for her arm. She whirled with a shriek, striking out with her briefcase, and he let out a bark of pain as the bag connected with a bruise.

"Pepper, Pepper listen- _stop_-"

"Who are you?" She screeched, moving to lash out again. Her eyes were frenzied and panicked.

"I'm me, I'm Tony- birthmark!" he yelled, wrenching the bag out of her hands and tossing it to one side. "Potts, you gotta believe me, it's _me_, I'm me-" she made a wild lunge for the elevator, and Tony caught her arm. "You try to keep me organized, and I fuck up, and you fix it, and you're allergic to some berry, and that time, when I first replaced the reactor, you pulled out the copper wire even though I told you not to-"

She stared at him, slowly going limp, but her expression retained its wholehearted horror.

"Tony," she whispered. "What are you _doing?_ With… with _him?_"

His mouth went dry, and he shook his head. "It's not… it's complicated, Potts."

Pepper put a hand against the wall, steadying herself. She looked deathly pale, and she swallowed. "Did he force you?"

"No! No, Pepper, he… we just…" he licked his still-burning lips and ran a hand over his face. "Just don't tell the team. I swear, I'll explain everything. Just promise me you won't-"

He jumped and swore as the elevator doors slid open and Steve and Bruce spilled out, looking equal parts disoriented and aggressive. Steve held his shield at the ready, eyes darting around the hall. "We heard a scream. What happened? Is everyone okay?"

All the air went out of Tony's lungs, and he looked to Pepper. "We're fine. I just startled Pepper." He swallowed and prayed internally. "Right, Potts?"

She stared at him for a moment, long enough for his mouth to dry out and for Bruce and Steve to exchange uneasy glances.

"Right."

* * *

Loki stared at the empty doorway, stunned into stillness. Stark's sudden absence tasted bitter, and his words rang in Loki's ears (_you don't understand, Pepper, please!_). An ugly certainty took root in his mind, and his mouth, still tender from Stark's kiss, contorted into a snarl.

How obvious.

Stark's heart belonged to her.

* * *

**Cheers,**

**BlackSheep**


End file.
